Sue, my dear mother-in-law, was celebrating her 70th birthday
in the last lucid days before ALS would take her from us.
She asked that we come to her, travel from Texas to Massachusetts,
likely knowing the end was nigh.

Our grandson was not yet two, but would make the trip with us,
the only chance his great grandmother Sue and her own
mother-in-law, his great great grandmother, would ever have to see him.

Travel there was beautifully smooth and easy, our bitty grandson
a slumbering cherub in our arms. Once there, he nestled sweetly
in Sue’s hospital bed, seeming to sense her fragility, playing baby
hand games with her, each delighting in the other.

Memories were made, to be later cherished, and our time there came
to an end as we entered the plane that would take us home once again.
Our boy cherub from the trip out disappeared and all the long return
he was utterly inconsolable, a stiff, screaming, and keening banshee.

Sue would be gone two months later.