“When it’s time, you’ll come.”
I thought she was simply being dramatic.
Mom said strange little things like that sometimes.
Before I left, she followed me outside.
She hugged me in the driveway longer than usual.
Then she pulled away and looked directly into my face.
“The freezer is full, Bethie.”
“Okay.”
“No matter what happens, don’t let anybody throw away my soup.”
I smiled.
“Nobody is throwing out your soup.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She touched my cheek.
Nine days later, Mom suffered a stroke while trimming the roses beside her house.
Her neighbor found her.
By the time help arrived, she was already gone.
My name is Beth Larsen.
I’m forty-five years old and work as a cardiac nurse in Pittsburgh.
I’ve been divorced for six years.
My daughter Kelsey is away at college in Ohio, and she calls me every Thursday night without fail.
