I don’t dream about my aunt or Grama very much but last night I did. We were at a restaurant finishing up and it was time to go. Grama kept pushing herself up like she was trying to stand, to leave. I ran to grab her wheelchair to bring over to her so she could transfer into it. I was asking my sister to help her, but Grama fell down before I could get the wheelchair to her. She kept trying to get back up and then falling down again. I was mad at my sister for not helping her, protecting her… she kept falling and getting weaker and smaller. I was horrified and felt helpless. The last time she fell, it was like she fell straight backwards, flat, with a thud. I just knew she was broken beyond repair. I went to cradle her while someone got help. Maybe an ambulance was coming. She was almost like a little gingerbread man at this point, that small and flat. The next part I remember is what felt like a little while later and I was holding a baby. It was a baby of course, but it was also some version of Grama having survived the fall. I cradled this baby and kind of showed her off to other people and I was thankful that she had survived. She looked small and thin and kind of weak and weary, but I was happy that she could track people’s faces so I knew the baby was going to be ok.