Forgotten

In three days I would have called her. I would have gotten the kids off to school and tidied up the kitchen and gone for a walk, maybe alone with a cup of coffee, and I would have dialed her number and waited for it to ring. For over twenty years I'd made this call. I likely said nearly the same thing every year, knowing it was just the fact that I was calling that was enough. 

'Hey old girl, how ya doing? Just wanted to let you know I'm thinking about you and I love you', is what I said to her every May 7th, the anniversary of my grandfather's death, her husband, the father of her four children. 

This year I will not call and she will not remember what May 7th means. My visit with her today was brief, as it usually is when I bring my kids. She was happy to see us and entertained by the kids as they climbed on her  bed and used the controller to make it go up and down. They hid in her closet and would scream with laugher when one of them opened the door. She smiled and laughed. She did not scold or tell them to quiet down. She has forgotten that she dislikes rowdy behavior. I guess some things are okay to forget.