Three phone calls, two nights, and one text later, I finally connected with Maga.
“Hi, Maga! It’s Abby.”
“Oh, hi, Abby,” she said in sort of slurred, tired speech.
“How are you doing?”
“Well, I’m okay.”
“You can hear better, huh? Your ears are feeling good?”
“Well, I’m okay.”
“How is the weather there?”
“It’s a nice day outside so we’re enjoying it from inside.”
(If that’s not the best description of quarantine, I don’t know what is.)
“That sounds like a safe option,” I said.
“What’s that noise?”
“Oh, sorry about that. I’m cleaning up dinner. Putting the leftovers away.”
“Scraping the pans?”
“Someone’s got to clean up, and since it’s just me here…”
“Are you living with your parents?”
“Nope. Just me. Only me. Truly only me. It’s tough in quarantine.”
“Isn’t it the pits?”
“It has its moments, but yes, today it’s the pits.”
“Well, we had good timing. You were ready to call and I was ready to receive it.”
It’s as if she knew I was conspiring with her caregiver to figure out the best possible moment for me to reach back out…Maga may have been very tired and signed off quickly so she could go take a nap, but with her hearing in tact, she was sharp as ever.
And I was grateful for the full four minutes we spoke.
Abigail Mumford 