Author: abby mumford

“Hello, Abby, darling. How are you?” Maga said.

“I’m okay for now. And you?”

“I’m just back from dinner. It takes some time to eat dinner and do the things you do.”

“True, true. So what did you have for dinner?”

“Well let me sit here and think about it.”

She did. She sat. She thought. Apparently the dinner wasn’t tasty enough to be memorable.

“What did you do today,” she asked, changing the subject away from her stalled memory.

“I went to work, and big news, [university] has canceled classes for the rest of the semester. Well, not canceled fully. The students will take class online instead.”

“What?”

“Classes are canceled.”

“Do they have stockings?”

“What? No. I said classes are canceled.”

“What?”

“Class. Students can’t go to class.” For some reason, the word class was tough for her to hear. “Classrooms. Teachers. Teaching. School. Education.” Eventually she understood me, or at least, she pretended she did.

To be honest, I was thrilled she didn’t seem to know much about the virus because it means it’s not all over the news there which means she’s safe. Also, the starting and stopping and repetition of a conversation felt familiar, as that’s all my brain’s been doing this week. The headlines, the doom and gloom, the uncertainty, the worry, the waiting. It all adds up to a messy mind.

It was reassuring hearing her voice, though, and you know? Maybe that’s why I had such patience for her (and the other classic topics we covered over the course of our conversation) tonight: one messy mind (anxiety filled one) understands another (nearly 99 years old one).

“Hi, Maga, it’s Abby.”

“Hello, Abby dear. Did you do anything interesting today?”

“I voted, went to work, and now I’m at my friends’ house. Did you vote today?”

“Vote?! No! Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Well, it’s just primaries. Maybe your state didn’t vote today.”

“No one told me.”

“Maybe you voted early?”

“No. I’m sure I did not.”

“Oh.”

“Where do you live?”

“Massachusetts.”

“What town?”

I told her the town.

“Oh, that’s right. How could I have forgotten that? Sometimes these things slip my mind.”

“That’s okay. I’ll be here to remind you when you do.”

“Yes, you always call on Tuesdays. I’m glad you have my phone number so we can communicate frequently.”

“Me too.”

“Did you do anything interesting today?”

I went through the whole routine again, except I wisely left out the part where I asked her if she voted. This time, I ended my story by telling her about my dinner and dining companions.

“We had the biggest, cheesiest, doughiest pizza. It was perfect. And with 9.5 of us here, there aren’t many leftovers.”

She didn’t ask what I meant by half a person nor did she ask why we were all together on this Tuesday night. She did comment on one thing, though. “I like pizza,” Maga said. “I don’t have it very often. I don’t know why.”

There are a lot of things I don’t understand and thinking too hard on them can often lead down a treacherous path of anxiety, self-doubt, and confusion. Wondering why Maga doesn’t eat more pizza sounds like a much safer (and frankly, more fun) path to walk down. Join me, won’t you?

In the middle of the work day, my phone rang. A highly unusual circumstance that caused my heart to skip a beat. I cautiously answered it. “Hello?”

Maga cleared her throat.

“Hi, Maga!”

“How did you know it was me?”

“I have your phone number in my phone, so your name appears when you call.”

“Oh.”

Before I could ask if everything was okay, she continued, “I just called to say Happy Birthday, [Sister E]!”

*silence*

“Oh, umm, I’m not [Sister E]. And her birthday was exactly one month ago.”

*silence*

“What? You’re not [Sister E]?”

“No. This is Abby.”

“When was your birthday?”

“January 8.”

“I’m a bit late, aren’t I?”

“There’s no expiration date on birthday wishes. I’ll accept them at any time.”

“But today is your birthday, right?”

“No, I’m afraid it’s not.” (I’ve never felt so guilty for telling the truth!)

“Are you at home?”

“No, I’m at work.”

“You’re [Sister E], right?”

“No, this is still Abby.”

“How did I end up talking to you?”

“You called me.”

There was some fumbling and I could hear Maga and her caregiver M talking. As Maga rattled off my phone number, M pointed out my name by it. I agreed that she had my phone number there, but it was not computing that the number she had was mine and not [Sister E]’s.

I’m sure it also didn’t help matters that [Sister E] and I sound very similar on the phone.

I confirmed [Sister E]’s phone number, confirmed her birthday was 1/28, confirmed I’d be seeing Maga for her birthday in a month, and for the hell of it, confirmed my dad’s birthday was yesterday. Birthday wishes for everyone! Cake too!

 

“Hello, Abby dear.” Maga’s speech was slow and very slurred. “I was dozing in the chair after dinner.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to wake you. I’ll let you go.”

“No. No. I like talking to you.”

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

I let her set the pace and as she cleared the cobwebs from the post-dinner snooze, the conversation unraveled slowly. Words and thoughts were hard for her to grasp, and yet, I didn’t want to fill in her sentences because I didn’t always know what she meant and if I guessed wrong, she had to start the thought process over. It’s a lot for a 98 years and 11 month old lady.

These conversations are supposed to be comforting, not taxing.

“Things happen we didn’t anticipate” and “It will be a special time to celebrate” and “Hope for the best” and “It’ll work out fine and good” and “You’ll be comfortable.”

She kept uttering generic phrases to whatever I was (or was not) talking about. I think she’d start off by listening to me, but then the TV would catch her attention and she’d end the sentence differently than she started it.

A bit of a travelogue if you will.

“I remember when we started talking on the telephone.”

I perked up. “Yeah?”

“All those years ago.”

Generic and yet accurate. It was the most I’d be able to get out of her brain tonight, so I chalked that one up as a win.

In order to avoid another go ’round about the weather, I asked Maga if she’d had any visitors lately.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Quite a few.”

“Oh, yeah? Who?”

“They were, you know, out-of-towners.”

“I assumed so.”

“Were they relatives? Friends? Neighbors?”

“As I say, they were out-of-towners.”

Perhaps if you say something repeatedly, it’ll be true. (Like if you stand in front of a mirror at night and say… you know what, nope. Never mind. Not going there.)

“Are you coming for my birthday?” Maga asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“How old will I be?”

“99.”

“I hope I last.”

“You will.”

“I’m planning on it.”

Maybe she should say it aloud a few more times to make it so?

“What airport are you going to to get to me?” she asked.

“Denver.”

“Where?”

“DIA.”

“Oh, yes. That’s near where I live.”

“Yup. It’s not that far from you.”

“It was built recently, so it’s convenient and handy and so on.”

One, it was built in 1995. I guess when you’re 99 and 11 months old, that is recent, so… Two, she’s stating things into fact again. This time she was at least using a thesaurus. Three, I gotta try this speaking things into existence gig.

“I’m going to win the lottery. I’m going to win the lottery. I’m going to win the lottery.”

*waits for it to start raining money. or men.*