Last night, we had a moment.
After tucking her in, she kept trying to pull off her wedding ring and give it to me. It was too much. I started crying and asked her to wait. Not yet. But she insisted. Luckily her knuckles–like mine–are so big she couldn’t slip it off.
She reached for my face with her hands, weak and shaky. She couldn’t find me; I had to help her. She cupped my face and pulled me in and pressed her forehead to mine and said, with confidence, the first non-broken sentence I’d heard since I arrived.
“Jenny, I love you.”
“I love you too, Gam. Very much.”
“I have something very, very important to tell you. Please, please do not forget. Promise me you won’t forget.”
At this point I’m bawling like a baby—wondering what piece of sage wisdom is going to come out of her mouth.
A blessing? A last wish? A memory?
“Promise me, Jenny?”
And then, typical Gam, she says something I’ll never forget:
“Tomorrow I would like a chocolate milkshake.”
I laugh so hard I choke on my tears. Some things don’t change.