I arrived, expecting another day of laying in bed with Mom, holding her as she slept.

She wasn’t in the Geri Chair in the kitchen.

She wasn’t in her room, and the windows were open, curtains fluttering in the wind. 

My throat seized up. In Appalachia, when someone is near death, you open the windows, so that their soul isn’t trapped. Oh my god. Did Mom pass and they forgot to tell me? 

A nurse saw me and told me Miss Sybil was in the courtyard. I shook my head. What? I asked, “My mom? She’s out of bed?” She nodded and pointed. 

Sure enough, Mom was sitting in the sunshine, next to her beau, basking in the warmth of the October day. It was such a cognitive dissonance from my previous visits that I had to stand there a moment to take it all in. She saw me, stood up, and walked towards me, shaking and crying. “My baby! My baby!” I was flabbergasted. 

I hugged her tightly, her head resting on my chest. “There, there,” I said as I stroked her hair. She took my hand, and we walked the courtyard, her in socks, relishing the warmth of the sidewalk on her soles. As we circled back to where she had been sitting, her beau said, “Where y’all going?” I replied, “We’re just walking.” He told us that he’d be right there. I nodded and he said, “When y’all decide to start stripping, I’ll be right here. Okay?” I couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe it’s not funny. But it is. And when I laughed, Mom laughed. And then her beau laughed. And there we were, under the perfect blue October sky, relishing the warmth of the sun, and guffawing loudly.