Twilight approaches

I do not venture out into the cold and wet.  I turn on enough lamps to light the whole house like daybreak and I busy myself.  I reorganize Tupperware cabinets or sort through linens.  If particularly bored, I might even iron.  Usually, I wait until around 11 AM EST and then I call Gran.  Yesterday was rather gloomy and chill, so I puttered about the house and then placed my call.

Her voice was a sad slow whisper.  I worried that perhaps just holding the phone would tire her.  She commented on the weather and how nice it was that my mother was visiting.  I tried to sound upbeat and chatty, commenting on my children's busy schedules but she had trouble following the conversation.

I call almost every day, afraid that every conversation will be our last.

I have nothing left I need to say, no admissions or pleas for forgiveness.  I do not need to convey any unspoken wishes or feelings.

I simply want to hear her voice.

I wish that I could hold her tissue thin hand in mine one more time.  Moreover, I wish was small, my plump hand in hers as we run errands through the sunny streets of Clarksdale.  I wish I was 15 and playing tennis, trying to return her wicked serve.  I wish I was 27 and receiving the beautiful peignoir she bought for my honeymoon.  Anywhere but here, anytime but now.

Every ring of the phone twists the strings of my heart; I pick up the receiver apprehensively.  I know soon I will take the call I have so long feared.

There will be no shock, no sudden loss.  Instead, we have endured this long goodbye.  Each day she weakens, slowly drifting away.

It is like watching twilight edge over the earth; the sun fades away as the darkness descends.