Watching

People keep assuring me that she is at peace, comfortable, calm, etc.
I have to hope that's true.

Last week I called; she'd just finished dinner,
sitting at the kitchen table, which surprised me.
(It had surprised everyone.)
But as we talked, it seemed like it was going to be one of those conversations
where I end up talking as if to a child.
"What did you have for dinner?" I asked,
and I could hear them in the background prompting her what to answer.
Finally she said, "Stroganoff."
And then she kept repeating that as her answer to my next two questions,
which had nothing to do with her dinner.
"Stroganoff." "Stroganoff."
I had reconciled myself to the fact
that we weren't going to have meaningful conversation this time.
And that actually emboldened me
to drop the "talking-to-a-preschooler" voice and
to say something frank I probably would have been hesitant to say otherwise,
since I assumed she wasn't going to understand.
"I hope you're not in pain," I said.
And suddenly, for a moment, it seemed—
seemed, I say, because I don't really know—
that she was lucid.
"No. I'm afraid I am, actually," she said.
It was her regular voice, clear and with all its usual nuances.
I don't remember what I said after that.
Probably nothing. I wouldn't have known what to say.