A little after dinnertime on Friday night, I called out to Mom from behind the kitchen counter; she was sitting on the living room couch with her head resting on a pillow, facing away from the TV-- and from the rest of us. Something seemed amiss.
"Mom."
No answer. Mom didn't move.
"Mom!" I called again, alarmed.
Still nothing.
Dad began walking over to where Mom was. When he was halfway there, Mom slowly turned her head toward me.
My chest was pounding like a kettle drum, but I sagged at the kitchen counter, flooded with relief.
_
Marathon
11 years ago
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