We are frail. We are resilient. There comes grace and aid but also failure and the pull to extinction. We are wending our way, one and all, from birth to the grave. Hallelujah. No really: hallelujah.

Yesterday on the phone, my sister’s doctor poo poo’d me. Her oxygen levels were fine. She was likely just upset about her aide’s departure. I announced, “I’m ten minutes from calling 911.” A short time later, he made a house visit. He called 911.

What a way to spend Christmas! She was admitted last night and is now comfortable. Getting oxygen and other meds she needs. Today, K and I went first to the apartment — put out a few days’ worth of food for her cat; took out garbage; put away the bags of delivered groceries that had been abandoned. Next, we went to the hospital for a brief visit.

We are frail. We are resilient.

The seven of us that shared Christmas Eve dinner have our own impressive list of diagnoses. We aren’t particularly unusual or unhealthy. Just human.

The sense of mortality pervading this Christmas Day, believe it or not, has a holier cast than the usual holiday.

Merry Christmas, dear readers. Hope it is a warm and safe holiday for one and all!