Today was my grandmother's 92nd birthday.
I kissed the soft skin of her cheek and I asked her "have you ever in your life thought about the day you would become 92?"
She replied that she didn't think she'd make it this far. Her own mother dying at the age of 55.
She's a beautiful, beautiful woman.
At one point in our conversation she asked if it was November 11. I told her it was November 14 and she started to laugh saying "oh, it's my birthday today".
It was a cute moment.
She can remember watching her grandchildren play hockey 30 something years ago. She can remember the names of her neighbours and old friends. She couldn't remember that it was her birthday today.
I love this woman who became my grandmother when I married my husband. I love that she calls me her granddaughter, something I have no memory of my own grandparents doing since they died when I was young. I love that she believes I am a special part of her family. I love that she is 92 and can laugh at the fact that she didn't remember that today was her birthday.
I want to be just like her when I grow up!