“Hi, Maga! It’s Abby.”
“Hello, Abby dear. You have good timing. We just got back from a walk.”
“And how was your walk?”
“It was nice. It’s calm and clear and bright.”
“That sounds quite lovely.”
“Do you have to wear a mask,” Maga asked.
“Not in my house, but outside, yes.”
“Me too.”
“And you wear it?”
“Oh, yes. Anytime I leave my room. It’s very important.”
“In fact it. We have to keep everyone, including ourselves, safe!”
“And where are you right now?” Maga asked.
“At my parents’ house.”
“How long have you been there?”
“About a month.”
“What?”
“4 weeks.”
“Oh, you’ve been there a month?”
“Yup. You got it.”
“Well what have you been doing? Lots of trips?”
I chuckled. “Uh, no. Pretty much the only time I leave the house is for a morning walk. Or a bike ride on the weekend.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Not very exciting.”
“When are you coming here for a visit?”
“As soon as travel is allowed, I’ll be there.”
“Until then, thank you for calling. It’s lovely to hear your cheerful voice.”
“I’m happy to talk to you!”
“You’re in NJ?”
“Yes.”
“With who?”
“My mom, dad and [Sister E].”
“Do I have your mom’s number?”
“Yes.”
“Wait wait wait. Let me get a pen and paper.” Rustling noises ensued along with a few more “wait, waits.” “Okay, I’m ready.”
I gave her the details.
“Who’s number is this?” Maga asked.
“The house number. My mom’s house.”
“Yes, but who’s your mom?”
The conversation went like that awhile longer. I didn’t mind repeating myself or reminding her who my relatives were or what time it was here on the East Coast because Caregiver M had sent me this picture and it was great to see her face again. I focused on this instead of my answers, because it’s good to see she still never leaves the house without lipstick on even if she has to cover it up with a mask.
Abigail Mumford 