She looked at the little window. At the blossoms pressing against the glass.
“Family is the person who puts in a window for you,” she said. “Even when they know they’ll never get to look out of it themselves.”
I put my arm around her.
We stood there in the doorway of Room 214 until the night nurse came by and gently told us it was time to go.
On the way out, Grandma stopped at the family waiting room and picked up her handbag from the blue chair by the window.
Then she straightened her cardigan.
And she walked back down the hallway to the new wing, to meet her great-granddaughter.
Right through the door marked FAMILY.
