Mom’s Angel
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“BYE, MOM. TALK TO YOU next week.” I hung up the phone, unable to ignore the drumbeat of worry that had been building during our conversation. It was our Sunday call, when we touched base every week.
What was it that had me so concerned about Mom? Her hip? The pain was pretty intense, bone grinding on bone. She’d had a procedure a couple years back, to no avail. But she was her usual uncomplaining self. “The doctor gave me something that I can take before I go to bed,” she’d said. “It seems to help.” No more strolls up and down the block in her walker, though.
Maybe it was how much sleep she seemed to need lately. Up in the morning to do the crossword puzzle, then back down for a nap. Up for then another nap. Dinner and the book that she was reading for her book group. Then bed. “I sleep fine,” she insisted.
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