My Grandmother

My Grandmother’s age is really starting to show. When walking, her hands grip the handles of her walker with as much force as someone trying to hold all the sand in a closed fist. Her ankles are swollen with bright angry red welts all over them, from walking on them as her feet turn out. Her back is starting to hunch over, making her much shorter than most hobbits. Her arms are getting smaller from lack of exercise since she can no longer take the swing dance classes she loved so much. It seems like yesterday she glided across the dance floor tapping and swinging her hips to the music. She walked tall and proud.  It is now more of a shuffle and slide across the ground, no longer making eye contact as she moves about. Things that used to take her three minutes to do now take more than twenty minutes to complete. My Grandma and I used to make apple pies. She would peel the skin off of them, almost faster than the eye could comprehend. Yesterday I watched her take 20 minutes to peel just one apple to eat. It is very hard to watch this once happy easy-moving person I knew become a little old lady that I no longer know. She is more than just a grandmother to me; she has also been my partner in many adventures that we can no longer do. We would drive for hours searching for new towns or hike many a hill. Now, I worry about her all the time and then she turns to me and smiles at me with the twinkle in her eye and I know she is ready for another journey. No matter how slow and long it might take her to get there.