Eighty Seven

She is eighty seven today.

I took her a present and I took my computer.  It is her birthday and yet I wanted something for myself.

I opened up a blank document and asked her to tell me some stories.

I want to write them down for later, I’ll need to tell them to someone one day.

Tell me stories about birthdays, stories about Christmas, stories about babies, funny stories, happy stories, real life stories.

It was a slow start to my project when I said let’s start with birthdays , and  she said she didn’t really remember birthdays.

I pushed her along with surely you can remember one birthday there have been eighty seven!  With a twinkle and a smile she started talking.

We moved on to Christmas and the words got easier.

I typed as fast as I could.

I would slow down mesmerized by the words, then  I would speed up almost holding my breath trying to get it all down.

I’ll work on my notes soon, correcting the spelling and the punctuation and the run on sentences.

I’ll tuck them away and keep adding to them and one day when someone asks I will tell them the stories.

Some of the stories are in my heart and I don’t need to write them down.

Surely I won’t forget!

She was somewhere around fifty, my age,  the day I drifted into her life.

I took something that belonged to her.

She loved me anyway.

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