I climbed in the Lyft, and as we sat in traffic, Mom texted the coast was clear to call Maga (in case that had been me beeping through earlier). It wasn’t, but as the car continued to sit more than move, I thought my only chance for a Tuesday conversation might be now. Before I could act, my phone rang. It was Maga.
She clearly had her conversation with my mom on her mind, as she peppered me with questions about my upcoming family trip. She knew the big picture, but not so much with the details. I filled in the missing parts, though somewhat hesitantly, as I was sitting in a quiet car whose driver had my home address, and now, the dates I won’t be there.
Yes, I answered Maga’s call, but ugh, life is hard when it’s not on my own schedule.
I guess I have to trust in the decency of this Lyft driver. In the kindness of strangers.
Much like Maga has to do with the caregivers who surround her daily/nightly. We tell her she’s lucky and to calm down and that she’s in the best possible situation, but 97 years of life can make the details hard to remember and in the absence of those, the big emotions come forward. Like obsessing about how a Lyft driver might be planning to rob your house months from now.
Why, yes, in fact this traffic is so slow that I’m now equating it with having lived 97 years. Sometimes, you gotta let the big emotions roll.
Abigail Mumford 