what we choose to leave them with

A phone was raised to the glass, but the poor connection made it nearly impossible to hear one another. Lynn pressed her cell phone closer, hoping her sister’s words would come through. From inside the enclosed entryway, their grandmother leaned up to the glass front door, striving to hear the spotty video call. Like a translator, Lynn recounted the words that were lost in her sister’s video static. 

“She says she loves you.”

The short reunion ended as the nursing staff pulled the grandmother back inside. But a final message was exchanged, “Tell her I’m sending her a big big hug.” Lynn nodded. A game they played at the end of every call. “Did you hear that sister?”

As she climbed into her car, she turned the phone to face herself, finally pulling off her mask.

“Sister?”

“I’m here.” 

They sat for a moment, not saying very much at all. How to process all that was happening. 

“Let’s talk again tomorrow, and call her Thursday,” her sister said from the choppy other line. 

“Okay,” Lynn agreed. She swallowed a knot of fear. So much still to say, to discuss, to decompress, but instead she chose to leave her with, “Did you get my hug?”

-b 

October 5, 2020