Soon I will be calling Sue. Saturday morning it’s our thing. We first met working in the hospital when I was a bright eyed and bushy tailed 22 year old and she was an experienced and already slightly weathered senior nurse. She was short and stout with a reddish complexion and she talked a lot. But she knew her stuff.
Today, 25 years later, she’s much smaller, older and though a small stroke left her with a somewhat uneven gait, in some ways she’s physically healthier than ever before. She gave up smoking and started walking. She and her little dog. They’ve walked millions of miles.
She’s alone in the world. Her parents both long gone, both brothers deceased and her only son has completely disowned her.
She raised him alone. She had no partner, no boyfriend, and nobody really knew the story of how her son came into this world. But throughout her life and her career as a nurse, her son was her one and only. She and him against the world.
He grew up and eventually moved away. He met a woman. From a different country and a very different (and stifling) culture. This woman pulled the son from his mom. She caused a rift between them. She embedded her culture into him and some would say she brainwashed him.
Now he sees nothing of his mom and doesn’t even talk to her. They haven’t spoken in years.
Nowadays Sue speaks about the son she had, that she lost. It’s tragic. She’s sad. But I think she’s accepted it, if that’s even a possibility.
Each Saturday morning I call her landline. She has no cell phone. No computer, no internet. Not even an answering machine. If she picks up we chat for a few minutes and then we set a time to meet. She walks her little ugly mean dog who is her whole world and I walk my happy, clueless, golden retriever.
It’s our Saturday thing.
bloom.planted.north 
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