Everybody get out your little rakes!

This was at my Grandma’s house around 1980. The other night I had a dream that I was visiting my Grandma at her nursing home, and I held her hands and looked into her smiling face. I started bawling, squeezing her always chilly hands in mine; they were so small, like disproportionately small, and I felt so bad for her. “You’re so small,” I told her between my tears.  “I love you so much, and I want to take care of you, but I don’t know how.” She laughed and in her Arkansas accent told me that she was ok. I think she called me Jane’ll (that’s the only way I can think to spell it phonetically) like she used to. When I woke up, I could still feel her hands in mine, cool and small. I didn’t move for several minutes so I wouldn’t lose the sensation of her hands. It went away eventually, and I cried real tears for someone who has always been there for me, and whose life is so near the end, but I can’t do anything to help her, to save her. I love you, Grandma.

I still smile like that for most pictures, by the way.