The Boxer.

My phone rang before half past six this morning, and caller I.D. told me it was the aged care facility where my Nana lives. When I said goodbye to my Nana, before I relocated, I was aware that it may be the last time I’d ever hug her. Let’s face it, any time anytime ANYONE leaves my sight I am hyper-aware that it may be the last time I see them. Nobody lives forever. So, an 85 y.o. Nana with minor health issues, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that an early morning phone call would be to tell me she’d shuffled off this mortal coil. And I thought that was what it was. So, I let it ring out. 

When I was ready I rang back. Nana was still going strong. Aside from a urinary tract infection that was causing her behavior to be altered, and to lash out physically at another resident. Because Alzheimer’s isn’t demeaning enough, clearly. So, my Nana, my fashion conscious, brand loving, man killing, elegant Nana has been belting another elderly lady around the head causing bruising. Fab. And once again the realization that, despite it not being the phone call I thought it was, my Nana has left the building.

Nothing gold can stay. Life is short and turns on a dime. 



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