You don't know how much you love someone, and how fragile life is, until someone calls you at 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning and says she is going to the emergency room.

She didn't--or couldn't--tell me what was wrong and what hospital she was going to. There are two hospitals almost equidistant from her home and a third not much farther away.

I got dressed (it is illegal to race around in the altogether), grabbed my purse and got in the car. Then I stopped, and sat for a bit, breathing quietly and listening to...I don't know, just listening....

Then I started the car and drove, in that same quiet listening mode, to the hospital where, there she was, in the emergency room. Sometimes I can do that.

She was awake and alert and we had a fine conversation until she ran out of energy. If she were a younger woman, she would have been sent home, I'm sure, after the EKG, but given her age they decided to keep her over night. There are several serious things that could be wrong, and they want to test for all of them.

Of course, she was already talking about what we're going to do when she goes home again and we chattered on like the two little girls we are at heart. I love her very dearly and I hope she lives forever. But since she's 91, I guess that may not happen. We love to talk and visit; there will never be time enough to say all the things to each other that we want to say. "I love you" will have to do.

I'm waiting now until hospital visiting hours start, so I can check on her again. And how is YOUR Sunday going?