Grandma Lulu

Grandma Lulu is ninety-three. Living 3000 miles apart, we've been telephone family for decades. Then calls started getting shorter, less personal, chats that started with, "It's Robin, Ellouise's daughter."

"I know," Lulu would always say, but I couldn't tell for sure.

I accepted my changing role: Telemarketer of family love. Station break in a Medicare nursing room sitcom. Voice in the shadows.

Now Lulu's hands can't steady the phone to her ear. So I leave messages. Each "I love you" might mean Goodbye.


A ninety-three word conversation? It's a lost luxury.