Her sentences were punctuated with wracking coughs. “I’m not sure what’s wrong, but something’s not cooking with gas,” Maga said.
I wasn’t sure whether to chuckle or wince. The coughs were different than usual, and so I settled on worrying while she asked her caregiver for water.
“I should let you rest your voice,” I said.
“Yes, that’s probably best.”
It was a conversation filled more with waiting than talking. Her to catch her breath. Me for her voice to return. But even in those beats, we were together as usual on Tuesday. Sometimes, that’s everything.
Abigail Mumford 