Page 12 - 2017 Spring-Summer Issue
P. 12
The Perfect Last Conversation
by Lisa Graves
© Julija Sapic / stock.adobe.com
It was the perfect last conversation, a well- They called me because you don’t answer
practiced dance we fell into without notice. I phone calls. They tell me you need to adjust the
was standing at the sink with my hands in warm medication that thins your blood. When I see you
dishwater, when you came into the kitchen from later in the day, in my best neutral mom voice, I
your room in back. Draping your arms over the suggest you name that phone number so when
refrigerator door, you silently scanned for food. the lab calls again, you’ll know to answer the call.
I found comfort in this familiar small gesture. I You utter a “yea, yea...ok“.
initiated the conversation trying to make it sound
like the thought had just now occurred, like we The evening that you die, I look through your
were conducting the business of evenings already phone and find a message from the lab; it’s just
past. The long scar starting at your heart and phone numbers on the voicemail screen.
ending above your belly told a more truthful story.
This was your 12th day home, 12 weeks after Our perfect last conversation was part of an
surgery that gave your heart mechanical agreement that was made while once tethered
rhythm. I spoke first...reminding you that your together. There was no truth telling, no heart-
doctor would call you in the morning, and pouring dialogue on that last night, just nagging
you might want to tell her that you had started and irritating banter. Us at our worst was us at
smoking again. You were silent, then responded, our most real. We were family.
“Everyone’s bugging me, just leave me alone,
I’ve got everything under control.” At 22, you Lisa Graves lives in the Bay Area in Northern California.
suddenly became 12 again. She stumbled on to writing after the death of her 22 year old
son. You can contact Lisa and read more of her writing at
thebrokenbranch.com.
The week before, I received a call from the lab
that left me unable to sort my fear and anger.
1 2 |We Need Not Walk Alone
