it’s going to be a logistical mad house as we squish people into every nook and cranny of my parents’ house. but it’s sister E’s big day. it’s important we all show up. i called maga to discuss the latest arrangements, which include us potentially sharing a room.
me: i hear we’re going to be roommates.
maga: i know! won’t it be fun? you should know, i don’t snore. do you?
as adorable as that question was, it got me thinking because my dad snores. LOUDLY. it’s kind of unbelievable. and a lot unbearable. i don’t know how my mom does it.
actually, i do.
during one particular session where walls were vibrating and reverberating with his sleep, i asked her how she could handle being so close to something that is louder and more annoying than those vuvuzelas from the 2010 world cup. she smiled and said, “i read an article many years ago that detailed how a wife was dealing with the untimely death of her husband. the last line said something to the effect of ‘and what i miss most is the sound of him snoring.’ i haven’t been bothered by his snoring since.”
it’s these conversations with maga that start out at one place (figuring out which posters we’ll hang up for the week, what PJs we’ll wear) and end up in another spot (a lesson on love) that make me grateful i have time to get to know her. and through her, my mother. and through my mother, me.
and no, i don’t snore.
Abigail Mumford 