My tiny three-year-old grandson bounced on the quilt over my raised knees as I lounged back in bed early one holiday morning.

He stopped bouncing, looked closely at me, and said, ‘I don’t ever want you to die, Mama,’

‘Don’t worry, darling,’ I answered, ‘I won’t die for a very long time yet. By the time I’m ready to die, you will be a big grown man and it won’t worry you very much.’

‘But, Mama, I will still miss you,’ was his reply.

And now that dear little grandson is twenty-six years old.

He is big and gorgeous. He has a university degree, a job and a wife.
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And I am the old woman I spoke about.