“It’s kind of spooky,” Maga said. The nighttime. The loneliness. The new location she calls home. I understood. That monster they call loneliness eats away at you.
“First time I’ve ever been alone,” she said. “First, there was Jobo. Then the caregivers. I guess I’ve got to learn how to be a grown up.”
“You’re how old?”
“I’m 95, you know.”
“I guess I’ve got a long way to go if you’re still trying to figure it out. Any words of advice?”
“Be strong and brave. You’ll get through it if you’re doing that.”
Her voice may have been unsteady, but her words were not. And she was right. The nighttime. The loneliness. We’ll get through it.