Chapter 9 - MOM FINALLY WENT HOME
Not Boone.
That home was gone.
Her new apartment was twelve minutes from us.
Two bedrooms.
Small balcony.
Terrible beige carpet.
Mom loved it.
The first night she slept there, I called four times.
On the fifth, she answered:
“Megan.”
“What?”
“If you call again, I’m blocking you.”
“You’re undergoing cancer treatment.”
“And I have a phone.”
“What if you fall?”
“What if you fall?”
“I’m thirty-four.”
“People fall at thirty-four.”
Impossible woman.
We compromised.
Morning text.
Evening text.
No surveillance.
No treating her like a patient before a person.
Ryan installed grab bars where Mom wanted them.
Not everywhere he wanted them.
She resumed light cooking.
Walks.
Reading.
She occasionally watched Lily for an hour or two when she felt well.
Not because we needed free childcare.
Because she loved being Grandma.
The difference mattered.
One afternoon, I arrived and found them sitting on the balcony.
Lily, now almost two, was feeding crackers to Mom.
Most were landing on Mom’s shirt.
Mom looked up.
“You’re early.”
“I missed you.”
She smiled.
That became easier to say.
Not:
I brought you vitamins.
Not:
I paid your phone bill.
I missed you.
We had both spent too much of our lives converting love into tasks.
Now we tried words.
Awkward.
May you like
Better.
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