My grandmother is way old.
81 years old, I believe. Her name is LaVonne, but she's always been called Bonnie. When she was a little kid, her tiny brother couldn't pronounce "LaVonne" and instead called her "Bon", which morphed into Bonnie, and that is what she has been known as for 70 some years.
I remember, very vaguely, her 50th birthday party.
She is a ginger and is riddled with Alzheimer's and doesn't know me anymore. Kind of, but not really. At our Christmas party yesterday, the guitar came out and we had some live music, which isn't that unusual at our family gatherings. She wanted to dance, so I put my arms around her and we danced.
She was so tiny and frail. I worried about breaking her. "I haven't danced for years," she told me.
I hadn't either, it turned out.
I wrote this last year. She has since moved on. I miss her.
