Last year we went to my grandparents for Pesach. Oh very normal you’re thinking. I know tons of people go stay with their grandparents forYomTov. I even have vague memories of sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor of their den when I was four or five. But for the next almost ten years my grandparents came to stay with us.

 _________

 But back to my story this year it is going to be different because my grandparents are getting old — too old to make the two-hour journey to the city where we live. Too old to even make it up the stairs in our home to the guest room. Too old for my grandpa to know 100 percent what’s going on.

So two weeks before YomTov my mother and I (the eldest girl in my family) drove up to my grandparents’ home to make Pesach there for them. My father and brothers would follow on the day of bedikas chometz. I told you all different. We packed up the car with about a million suitcases already packed up for Yom Tov because my mother said that if we left them all behind my little sibs would for sure open them and everything would become chometzdig get dirty get lost or all of the above. Leaving the kids under the care of my father my next sister and my aunt we left.