The days are delicate. The nights are long. Any hours awake are tinged with confusion and the sphere of understanding is limited. After multiple texts with Caregiver M over the course of the last few days, I finally managed to touch base with Maga.
“Hi, Maga! It’s Abby.”
“Hello.” It was more question than greeting.
“It’s Abby,” said Uncle T from, likely, farther away than he sounded. His booming voice was a surprising balm because it meant Maga had company and that she’d have no trouble hearing what he said.
After some updates from him, he kindly tried to bring Maga back into the conversation, but she was more invested in her lunch.
“Turkey sandwich?” I guessed.
“Hmmm,” she said.
“It’s actually real turkey,” Uncle T said. “Not the slices on a sandwich.”
“Oh, fancy!” I said. “And then time for pie?”
“Blueberry, it looks like,” he said.
“Maga, you should have eaten that first,” I said.
“Hmm,” she said.
“Well, I just wanted to say hi, but I’ll let you get back to your lunch.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“Love you!”
“Love you too,” she said quietly.
Abigail Mumford 