Our Savta has looked forward to this day since, well, forever. She may be blissfully ignorant, but should she miss the opportunity to be at a family simchah?

Yonah

Painful as it is, at this point, it’s in Savta’s best interests to stay home.

Kayla

Savta is the queen of our family. Of course she needs to be at my wedding.

Kayla

Two sheva brachos outfits, one set of linen, an in-store housewares order scheduled for delivery in the next few days, and a pair of casual summer shoes, because you can never really have enough shoes.

Also because when you’re kallah shopping, the credit card bills mount up like crazy anyway, so another hundred dollars here and there barely seems to register.

We piled our bags in the trunk, got into the car, and I watched as Ma pulled out her notebook, checking things off her endless lists with a satisfied expression on her face.

“Good, good, we’re getting there,” she said.

I smiled, leaning back into the leather seat and closing my eyes for a moment. If Ma wanted to deal with the lists, that was fine with me; I just wanted to relax.

Being a kallah was fun. And exciting. And exhausting. But for good reasons.

I kept my eyes closed as Ma finally began driving home. Sunlight played games of light and shadow against my eyelids. We slowed for a red light and I opened my eyes.

“Hey,” I said. “We’re right near Savta. Maybe we should stop and say hi.”

Ma glanced at me. “You sure, honey? Aren’t you too tired?”

I was tired, but Savta was… Savta. And, I realized with a pang, it had been a while since I visited. What with working full time, plus shopping, plus kallah classes and wedding planning and everything else, life had just become very, very busy, very fast.

“Let’s just go in for a few minutes. I don’t know when else I’ll have time this week, anyway.”

A few minutes later, we were entering the Golden Age nursing home, saying hi to the receptionist and heading for Savta’s room.

My grandmother was sitting in her rocking chair, looking regal in a colorful headscarf and matching sweater. But her eyes were vacant, and even though she had a Tehillim in her hand, it was closed, and her hand rested limply in her lap.

“Hi, Savta, how are you?” I bent down to give her a kiss. “We came by for a visit.”

Savta smiled. She loved family, loved socializing; that hadn’t changed, even when everything else had.

“Kayla, darling, you look beautiful. A real kallah meidel.”

I exchanged a glance with my mother. Did Savta remember that I was a kallah?

“Yes, Ima, the chasunah is in less than three weeks now, we’re really excited,” Ma said.

Savta’s face wrinkled just a little more, and then she said, “Oh, Kayla, you’re getting married? You should have told me! Maybe you did tell me, and I forgot? I don’t remember so well these days….”

I bit my lip. Savta had been the first to hear the news of my engagement, and I’d brought my chassan to meet her even before the news was official. And of course, she’d been at the vort.

“Yes, it’s very exciting, and look, Savta, you even have a picture up here of me and my chassan,” I said, pointing out the engagement picture I’d tacked up on her bulletin board.

Savta gives a drowsy smile. “Yes, yes, very nice. Beautiful news. So there’s a wedding coming up, lovely. I’ll have to get a nice dress.”

“Don’t worry, Ima, we’ll take care of everything,” my mother said. We both knew that Savta’s simchah dress was all ready, dry-cleaned and pressed in her closet.

“Right. You’re going to look beautiful,” I added.