So what does it mean when the first person you call on a Saturday is your grandma?
“Hey my girl.”
It’s a man’s voice. I was surprised to hear my dad on the other end of the phone. Easy to forget that she has cancer now, and who knows how many months. Which, when your grandma does Karate, means you fly right out.
“Hey, how’s she doin?”
“Well, I can’t really tell you about that now…” he paused in a hushed voice. “But our friend Loretta the nurse is here taking Gams’ VI-TAL SIGGGGNS!”
He shouts it loud and proud and excited, like a game show host playing up that one fluke prize that none of the contestants really wanted in the first place. Trying to get a smile out of her–or me. I can almost hear her rolling her eyes and imagine her swatting him silent with a bony hand in the air.
Loretta has been gam’s nurse at the apartment since she moved in. She is so kind. Very non smart-A.
Everyone at Riddle loves my grandma. At least the people who work there. I don’t know if it’s that she treats them like special guests instead of hired help, actually acknowledges them in the hallways to ask about their kids and Friday-night dates, or thanks them graciously with big tins of walnut brownies for doing out-of-the-job-description favors like hanging huge, freaky Japanese pictures, organizing hospital-wide searches for her runaway cat (more on that later) or simply stopping by to make sure she’s OK now that Mr. Wilson had passed.
More later. Much more later.