This pic? 1945. Grandma was 24. Five kids in, after 9 years of bliss with Grandpa. He’s typically tilted, cocksure, dialed in his WW2 dress-issues. The day before he left for service. Today? She’s 93. And she’s tired. Tired of being alone. Tired of the 4 walls. I’m back home. Trying to make up for lost time. Trying to make the most of the time we have left. Let’s go Grandma. Let’s break your pattern. With Grandma riding shotgun, we joyride through the town of my youth. For hours. On wide paved four-lanes she remembers as single dirt paths. Equal parts recreating and creating memories. With my parents and my wife and kids in tow, I can see a light in her eyes. Go Grandma go. A light I haven’t seen in years. Stay Grandma stay.