She was feeling every one of her almost 90 years.
She was taking a journey, a journey back to the area where she had lived all of her life, except for the last eight months. She was going down to see friends and relatives she hadn't seen in months or years.
At one time the journey would have been easy. Now, it hurt. She couldn't even get in or out of the car without the help of her oldest son.
He helped her with a smile and with patience, but it wasn't the same as doing it without help.
Her son drove her through the Catskills, as a late snowstorm colored the ground white. She remembered how, once, there were thriving resorts everywhere. Jewish comedians would come and entertain the crowds. She was part of that crowd several times. Those days were long gone.
Her son took her past the house she had lived in for 52 years. Now, strangers lived there. They had painted it. Flags she never would have used to decorate it flew in the front yard. For months, she had not thought of her new home, near her two sons, as home. But obviously, this was not home any more. Other people would live the journey of their lives there. She had moved on. She could no longer cope with the large property, the stairs. She was living in senior housing now, about three hours away by car.
She was down in her home area for a birthday party - her 104 year old sister in law.
The journey home was hard and tiring.
Finally, her son helped her into her apartment. He turned on the light.
She was home.