It began as a joke. Salome remarked, “What if we invited Grandma?” while we were organizing a laid-back girls’ night—dessert, beverages, perhaps some bar hopping.
We all chuckled. Then we really accomplished it.
Grandma arrived in a knitted vest she won’t give up, bright earrings, and a butterfly shirt. She appeared somehow iconic and like a walking patchwork quilt. When we entered, many turned their heads.
Initially, we believed we would only remain for one coffee and a piece of cake before respectfully bringing her home. But not. Grandma ordered a shot of something we couldn’t pronounce and a cappuccino. She winked at the waiter as though she ran the establishment.
She recounted tales we had never heard before—about dancing barefoot in Prague, slipping into jazz bars in the ’60s, a boyfriend named Enzo who could or might not have been in the mafia. We were caught.
She dragged me up to dance. “Don’t be stiff,” she murmured, swaying her hips like she wasn’t nearly ninety. What about the way folks applauded later? As if she were the star.
The strangest thing was that we had not really observed this aspect of her previously. To us, Grandma had always been the quiet, nice matriarch who baked the greatest cookies and always had a tale about the “good old days,” but we never anticipated her to be so… alive. She was like a hidden treasure trove bursting with stories, laughter, and a vibrancy none of us had recognized remained inside her.
The whole pub was watching us before long. Now, not only for her age but also for the vitality she brought into the gathering, Grandma was the focus. Spinning me around during the second song made me see the other patrons, all of whom were grinning and applauding to the rhythm. I felt a peculiar pride as if Grandma had turned into a lighthouse of happiness everyone else wished to participate in.
Laughing, conversing, and dancing like if we had all the time in the world, we spent hours there. By the time the night finished, we were all humming with a kind of uncommon joy.
Driving Grandma home, I saw something. She was quieter than normal and talked with a sort of gentleness. Leaning back in the driving seat, she remarked, “You know, I used to believe life was only about getting through it. But tonight, I recalled what it was like to truly live. Her comments lingered in the space between us, and it hit me then—perhaps we were just as much in need of this night as she was.
Scrolling around social media the following day, I came across something odd. One of the other girls from our girls’ night had shared a photo of us dancing captioned, “Grandma’s first girls’ night… and she stole the show. #Legend.” #Legend
That’s when I understood we had only accidentally found something that could affect everyone. We’d gone out that night believing it was only a nice little concept, a way to liven things up, but what we got instead was a wake-up call on how simple it is to forget to live. How easily we let our expectations, our concerns, and our routines take over, and in doing so, we sometimes overlook the times that really enrich life.
But it was not the conclusion. The following several weeks were replete with change. Every month we planned to go out with Grandma. The desserts, the live music, the bar hopping—became routine. We didn’t only want to do it for Grandma. We began to anticipate it for ourselves. It was about finding happiness, spontaneity, and living in the present now, not only about keeping Grandma company.
One Friday, just a few months later, we headed to the same bar, hoping for the normal. But when we arrived, Grandma was not among us. Salome tried calling her several times, but got no response. We assumed she was simply exhausted and didn’t want to go out. Perhaps she was at home resting, relishing her quiet evening.
That’s when Mom texted me. Grandma’s hospitalized. The medics said she will be alright despite her fall this afternoon. Try not to be overly concerned. I’ll let you know.
It struck me like a ton of bricks. Grandma was the sort of person you believed would live eternally. You never actually anticipate being confronted with the prospect that time is running out. She had been so full of life that it was difficult to consider her as anything other than invincible. But there I was, reading the news that Grandma had fallen on my phone, and it immediately seemed as though the world was out of balance.
Our hearts racing in our chests, we hurried to the hospital. Grandma was sitting up in bed with her leg in a cast when we got there, but her grin was still as brilliant as ever.
“I didn’t expect to spend my Friday night like this,” she said, smiling up at us.
I felt relief. I had been anticipating panic, dread, perhaps even tears, yet there she was, as usual, downplaying the problem.
Grandma told us she was alright. Though she wasn’t badly harmed, the fall had been somewhat frightening. She said the doctors were looking after her and she’d be out in a few days; she had only stumbled over the carpeting in her living room.
That’s when her voice fell to a whisper and she leaned in closer. She remarked, “I was considering the other night.” You ladies are quite unique. You make me remember what it was like to truly live once more. Remember to keep dancing. Don’t put off living till events to slow down. Every night should be unforgettable; you don’t need a cause.
Nodding made me aware of the lump in my throat. I was afraid—afraid this was a warning, that time was running out. But I said nothing. I smiled instead, just as she had always done for us.
I told my grandmother, “We’ll keep dancing.”
From then on, I understood something that would be with me always: it was about how we decided to spend every moment, not about how many nights we had left or how much time we could cram into our lives. Though time is erratic, we can make the moments we have count.
We met once more for our girls’ night a week after Grandma returned home. This time, it was not only about enjoyment. It was about creating memories that would last, experiencing the happiness of being together, and celebrating life.
We boogied. We chuckled. We made sure to snap plenty of pictures. More crucially, we promised never to live without Grandma again. She was the glue that kept us together, the reminder we could always choose to live completely, no matter how old we become, not only the life of the party.
So, every month without fail, we honored our commitment to her—and to ourselves. We no longer took Grandma out for girls’ night. We ensured it was our own night, one full of happiness, laughing, and all that brings to mind what actually counts.
Life is short-lived. Every now and again, a small reminder will help us to pause and value the beauty in the small things, the individuals around us, and the experiences we get to share. Act now. Don’t delay your joy. Should you have the opportunity to love, to laugh, to dance—do it. You never know when it could be your last opportunity.
Therefore, tell this to someone you cherish. Tell them they need not wait for the ideal time. Just by living fully in the ones you have, you create the best moments.
