“I’m not liking the life I’m leading now,” Maga said.
“Oh, dear. Why ever not?” I asked.
“I’m not feeling well and there’s only one relative close by.”
“That’s one more than I have, so I understand that loneliness.”
“I bet you do.”
In an attempt to turn the conversation towards a happier topic, I mentioned that today was Sister E’s birthday.
“IT IS!?” Maga cried in a tone that implied I’d been purposefully keeping the information from her.
I hadn’t. I wasn’t. But the conversation devolved from there. It was a lot of me repeating myself. Sample topics:
Sister E’s phone number (6x), her address (6x), the city she lives in (5x), that it’s her birthday (5x), my address (2x), my city of residence (3x), Maga’s birthday (3x), who will be there for her birthday (2x), and, of course, the weather (4x).
Considering she was feeling crudsville and is inching ever closer to 99, I’m happy to talk (ad nauseam) about any topics, even if/when limited in scope.
However, I will admit it wasn’t a hardship to say goodbye when the nurse dropped by with Maga’s nighttime medicines…
Abigail Mumford 