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AN EPISTLE

BY SUMMER BOWLING

My last words to you were "I'm going now" - it was Friday night, on December
11th, the day my winter break began. I was leaving to spend the weekend with my
boyfriend, Mike. You didn't respond because you were sleeping. Uncle Web replied
instead and told me to have fun.

Earlier that day, I bought yarn from Joanne's for the scarves I planned to make
for Christmas gifts. Green and white yarn for my sister, Kaele, the colors of her fa-
vorite football team. Pale blue yarn for Kiernan, Mike's sister, the color of her eyes
(and her brother's eyes, but he dislikes scarves, thus thwarting my knitting for ev-
eryone for Christmas idea). And yellow yarn for you, my aunt, your favorite color. I
was so grateful you didn't question my yarn color choice, because you know I hate
the color yellow. My plan was to knit Kaele's and Kiernan's scarves during the day,
when we'd both be in the living room. I'd knit yours at night so you wouldn't see.

But,to borrow "life is what happens to you while you're busy making other
plans."

I came home from Mike's and Uncle Web told me you'd fallen at a routine
doctor's appointment - you fall semi-frequently, so I wasn't too worried. But they
wanted to send you to the emergency room; I figured maybe you hurt yourself
a bit more this time, like when you hit your eye on the hook in the door. Months
later, I learned you had fallen face-forward onto your walker.

They sent you to shock trauma. Your daughter-in-law, Anne, wife to your son
David, offered to take me down there. I didn't want to go. What could I have done
there, besides cry?

The first 48 hours are critical after this kind of trauma. That's what the doctors
told Anne, who told Uncle Web and me. Then, it's the first week. Throughout that
time frame, you remained a seven on the Glasgow Coma Scale. A score of eight or
fewer means a patient is comatose.

I put up Christmas decorations not long after the fall. You're the one who loves
decorating the house the most, and I wanted to make home the nicest it could be
for your return. The day after, Uncle Web said, "It looks like she won't be home in
time for Christmas."

On Christmas Eve we - my father, Uncle Web, and I - celebrated together. I
know you think Uncle Web can be lazy sometimes, but you would have loved the
meal he made for us. I know he put a lot of effort into it. We eat it silently. It feels
wrong to not have you there, you who would have enjoyed this the most. I baked
a pumpkin cake after our meal. It didn't taste very pumpkin-like, but it wasn't too
bad.