Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm ninety-four?

So mama Hazel is turning 94 in a week. Hers has been a glorious life and we kids/grandkids still adore her. Though she sometimes rests her head in her hand saying she just has "no steam," that hand is graceful, delicate. Her humor still glimmers through the cloudiness now and then--saying she'd love a "nap and a scotch" in the afternoon. I know she can't help but think that her days are numbered--that she'll soon join Dad and Pete and all those who've gone before us. Is it daunting? scary? exciting? to know you're 94 and in the autumn years? One thing I know is that she's failing--her heart is more tired and she needs oxygen at night, pureed foods during the day. But she's still gorgeous, even at 94.