There's always a few moments of rustling sounds before he says, "Hello?"
I announce myself because after all those years of using rotary
he forgets there is now this caller ID thing on phones
"Oh, hello Anna"
His voice is so quiet, so low
I always check my volume again
Even though I know it's already up as far as it will go
"Hi there! How are you?" I try to sound happy
but not manic
"I'm fine, how are you?"
"I'm fine too"
There is a long silence
So much emotion swells in my heart I struggle to keep it from spilling out
That would make this stoic, ninety-three-year-old man uncomfortable
And that's one of the last things I'd ever want to do
Only once before did I ever mention the largest elephant in his room
I had said, "You must be sad sometimes. I understand, I miss GrandMary too."
He changed the subject more swiftly
than anything else I've ever known him to do
So I won't bring that up again
It caused him too much pain
In the past sometimes I have also said, "I love you."
Those words being such a tiny fraction of what I feel
For the only one left
of the only two people in this world
Who found it in their hearts to take me in
when I was a 15-year-old stray
For the only man in my life who ever loved me
Let me stay
Took me back even after I ran away
Without regret
Without resenting that we ever met
Of course- more than once- in the past
I couldn't choke back the words, "I love you GrandMich!"
Even though that always results in another silence
And after a moment of composure
he can only stammer, "Ahem... ah... thank you. Yes."
So when I call him I usually only find myself able to say
that I don't really have anything to say at all
I just wanted to see how he is doing today
I like to picture him at the other end of the line
In his chair in the TV room
In a vest and his house-sweater
With pressed slacks and black shoes
With velcro fasteners he can attach and detach
With the shoe-horn on a stick he got after his hip replacement
He is still the proper-looking professor
Even when he's just watching the news
Even though he hasn't taught a class since 1982
Except for perhaps a leaf or a twig in his hair
I am often picking those out when I am there
And sometimes I even hug him
In recent years he has stopped resisting or even stiffening
When I do that
It might be wishful thinking on my part
But I believe he may even have come to like it
a little
I am very careful not to tip him over when I touch him
He is so fragile, so slight
Sometimes I can hardly feel his bones underneath all his layers of clothes
And yet he is a rock, upon which rests my very life
I know even when he isn't but he always says, "I'm fine."
And even when I am not I generally say, "I'm fine too."
Then he says with simple sincerity, "Thank you for calling me."
And that's it
I hang up with tears in my eyes
because I can't help but think every time I talk to him
this might be the last time
But even if it is
Even if the conversation may seem trite
Everything we need to say to each other has already been conveyed
without words
I know you know I love you GrandMich
Sleep well tonight
