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THE NARRATIVE ARC
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One day Mama called and said she’d fainted in the grocery store. They called 911, took her to emergency. She’d had a tiny stroke. Just a teeny tiny one, she said. She kept saying “I’m fine, sweetie, I’m fine.” But I couldn’t stop crying. Just. At random moments, when I thought about it.
But time went on as it does and she really was fine. Kissing grandbabies and going dancing and bowling. Walked a marathon at eighty as her pretty dark curls turned grey, then white. The next stroke wouldn’t be tiny.
When the phone rings at two a.m. it’s never going to be good news.
Saw my oldest sister’s number on my phone and was crying before I picked up. “I’m sorry” was the first thing she said and I was crying so hard I could barely hear when she said “Sweetie, Mama had a stroke, I’m so sorry.”
“Is she alive?” is what I remember asking. “Is she alive?” And my sister said yes, so I asked where, and she said Mama is in surgery and told me to pray.
I lost Mama at Christmas. She’d gone to a Christmas party in her senior’s complex. Came back home laughing and happy. Called her younger…