My grandmother is 89 today. She's 90 minutes away from us, but has flowers on the way, if they're not there already.
We visited her last Sunday, and had a blast.
She fell extremely ill last November, and returned to a nursing home for medical care. She was not in good shape, and we walked around in a sickened daze for a few weeks as we were "put on standby." She rallied, though, and was coherent and getting stronger in December.
She was stronger yet, when we saw her on Sunday. I'm not sure if you can tell the difference, comparing this photo to December's, but she's filled out considerably, having a new, heartier appetite. She's in therapeutic rehab. She's still in a wheelchair, but uses a walker for exercise. She was proud of herself for doing 2 laps around the nursing home last time she'd been up.
She kept us in stitches on Sunday, telling us that although she can't get around in her wheelchair, her elderly roommate is able to pull herself along using her feet, in a kind of sitting-walking motion. Her roommate, then, will get behind Grandma's wheelchair, and scoot both of them down to the cafeteria for lunch. "Only, she doesn't steer very well," she said, "and sometimes she runs me into the wall." She started giggling: "Oh, I'll bet we're a sight to see."
She's not particularly thrilled to be in a nursing home right now, but can still find humor in the Lucy-and-Ethel antics of getting to the cafeteria. I love this about her; I love her strength, and can see her influence in all of the women in the family: We may grumble or shed a few tears at the hand we're occasionally dealt, but we usually find ourselves laughing in the very next breath, and having to acknowledte that life is pretty darned good.
Raise your green beer to my Grandma today folks, and cross your fingers that we'll be celebrating her 90th with her in her own kitchen.