on a monday morning, around five a.m., in the summer of 2009, lisa woke up knowing there was a word for the day before but she couldn’t remember what that word was. she called her daughter who said “mom, you don’t sound right, you’d better hang up and call 911” lisa was ferried to the hospital–she had had a massive stroke. after three weeks in intensive care, she was transferred to a nursing home.
lisa, tony and a cat named loki share a bright, airy apartment decorated with photographs of her children and grandchildren. lisa is learning to walk with a cane. when i came over, a care package from lisa’s sister had arrived. sweet smelling candles, a pepper grinder, a bright green purse, dishware, and a pack of marlboro’s. we all had a cigarette.
lisa and tony share an unconditional love. they have seen each other at their worst, they are aware of their own frailties, they have supported each other through everything. because of the way social security and medicare works, they can’t get married but plan a civil union soon.
the only disappointment for lisa is that her son will is not in her life anymore. i don’t know the story of why that is but her sorrow is like the word sunday, always ready, always there, but never quite able to be pronounced. i had had trouble finding lisa because she had not been on facebook in a long while and none of our mutual friends knew what had become of her. her son will is a friend of my son eastman and will said that he doesn’t know where she is. i hope mother and son will reconcile. i dread most the prospect of either of my sons not speaking to me.
as i left the apartment, loki slipped outside and tony was sent to retrieve him. i noticed for the first time the plaque hanging on the front door.