She looks small in her bed. I guess hospital beds do that to everyone. But I can see her smile when we open the door.
I rush over to her, and then I worry--how to hold her.
"Come here! I'm still breathin'."
I fold my arms around her carefully.
On the drive in, Becky explained that they've admitted her for surgery. Somehow, that timing worked out--they're in town right when I arrive.
"And the surgery isn't dangerous," Becky had added. "It's routine--I mean, as much as this gets."
After the surgery, Mom will have chemo, so it makes sense to stay in town for a while.
"What about a hospital closer to home--Olympia, or Vancouver?" I'd asked.
"These guys are the best," Becky declared. I couldn't argue with that.
Now my sister went out in the hallway to call her family, and I had time to really sit with my mother, to look at her and to try to see how she'd changed since her trip to Oslo.