“Isn’t it amazing that we’re all here?  All four of us sisters together,” my Great-Aunt Edna kept saying.  “Four brothers and four sisters and we only have one brother left, but all four of us girls are here.”

Truly remarkable was that all four sisters were in the same room today when I stopped by to visit Grandma.  Even more remarkable was that I had my camera with me.  I would have been sick had I not been able to capture that moment.  All four of them, so aged from time, seeing each other fall to illnesses and sicknesses and burying three brothers, yet they still stand.  Together.

For just a moment, I placed myself in their shoes.  I have two sisters.  We are healthy, we are young, we are married, we have assumed long lives in front of us.  Will we be in a nursing home together someday, trying to remind each other about lost siblings or where we live or who we are?  Will we be signing the guest book and patting the heavily blanketed leg and promising to visit again soon?

It’s hard to imagine.  Then I thought back to decades before I was born, back to the days when these four women were young girls, pulling hair, borrowing clothes, washing dishes, and working on the farm.  How long ago that seems as I watched them together today in Great-Aunt Suvilla’s room, just two floors below my grandma’s room.

Visiting my grandmother today, on the large spectrum, was much easier than any of my previous visits so I continue with the hope that it truly gets easier over time.  I know, however, that there were so many distractions today that it hardly was a visit in the same regards as my past visits.  Aunt Marilyn was there as well as her husband, Uncle Lyle, and my mom and Grandma’s three sisters–Great-Aunt Suvilla, Great-Aunt Esther, and Great-Aunt Edna–and Great-Aunt Suvilla’s husband and daughter.  I mean, it was a packed room.

Even after taking Grandma back to her room, holding her bony, frail hand in mine, I felt like it was different.  She seemed tired, exhausted even, but she laughed, her old familiar ringing laugh, when Mom recounted the story about a previous visitor today–another resident at the nursing home–who had told Grandma a sure-fire way to keep her bowels healthy.  Grandma chimed in, recounting with a rare clarity, saying that the woman ate a chocolate candy bar every morning before breakfast.  Apparently, that’s how you keep your bowels clean.  Who knew?  This woman washes the candy bar down with a large glass of water (the water container was one she found in the hallway of the nursing home–I’m praying to God that it wasn’t someone’s urine cup!).

I left the nursing home feeling more peaceful than any other departure.  Maybe it was seeing the four sisters gathered in one room.  Maybe it was hearing from Mom about how one sister has tried multiple times to sneak Grandma out of the nursing home to take her for a drive.  Maybe it was hearing Grandma’s laughter, her real laughter.  Maybe it was her gentle hug, so soft because I’m terrified of breaking her bones.  It could have been a plethora of things.  But today just seemed…happier.

And the only downer to this visit was when one of my great-aunts whispered to me, “Thank you for taking our picture.  This could be the last time we’re all together.”  The solemness settled over me before I could shake it off and I pulled my camera just a little tighter to my side, hoping against all odds that it would take another picture of the four sisters together on another day, smiling as they were today.