Are you ready?

Grandma decided this morning that she wanted to visit the cemetery where her mother, beloved aunt, and my grandpa's mom and dad are buried. Her insistance and fussing over it were what made my mom agree, and give up a rare free afternoon to take her.

We were all preparing to leave for church as my mom solidified with my grandma and grandpa that she'd be home at 2:00 to pick them up.
"Dad are you sure you want to go?" She asked grandpa.
He paused and gazed up then down at his hands resting on his cane.
"Yes, I want to go."
"Okay then," she turned to call into the bedroom, "Mom, I'll be home around 2:00, okay?"
"Alright."
"Will you be ready?"
"Oh, yes. I'll be ready."
"Okay," my mom said in a slightly skeptical voice. As we walked out she yelled, "See you at 2!"

"Hey, I'm home!" my mom calls out as she and i walk in the front door at 2:00 sharp. Grandpa comes around the corner with the usual bewildered look on his face at seeing someone walking around the house. "Oh! hi," he says.
"How are you guys doing?" My mom asks expectantly as she makes her way to their bedroom to check on Grandma's progress. "fine, fine."
My mom walks into their master bathroom and asks grandma, "How are you doing mom, are you ready?"
"Oh, yes, I am," she states in her small, grainy voice as she stands bent at the sink.
"Okay, because we need to go as soon as we can."
"Oh Good. Good." She turns the water on, "I want to get some...uh...steaks."
My mom remains quiet, somewhat perplexed, but used to her mother's out-of context-ramblings.
"At Ralphs," Grandma continues, holding her shaking hands under the faucet. "Some nice top sirl...no...filet mignons. Would be very nice..."
"Okay, but mom what does this have to do with the cemetery?"
"The cemetery?"
Mom sputters a bit, "W-well, yes, mom! You wanted to go to the cemetery today, remember?"
"oh..."
"That's why I came home so early."
"Oh...yes. I forgot."
There's a small pause as my mom gathers her patience.
"My mind was...all on Christmas," Grandma mumbles softly. "I was...looking through all those books and i got so involved..." She trails off.
My mom asks slowly, "Do you still want to go?"
"Yes. I want to go. I'm going. I haven't gone in years and by God, I'm going."
Mom sighs, "okay. Are you going to be ready?"
"Yes. I'll be ready."

I don't know what it is about the thought of an 87 year old woman visiting the grave of her mother, aunt, and her husband's parents on a cold, grey October day that causes such indescribable feelings to run through me. And knowing the history she's had. Her father isn't buried there, because she never knew what happened to him after he left her and her mother when she was 14, and her mother slowly lost her mind as she grew older and my grandma had to care for her.

"Are you ready mom?" my mother asks again.
Her husband decides not to go because he'd "just get in the way", and sits in his armcair as mom cleans his false eye.
"Now don't worry," she consoles him. "We'll be back soon, and Colleen will be here for a little while."
He doesn't say much as they leave, but as always, makes sure to ask his wife, "do you have a little sweater on, mommy?"