“Herb had to take me to the hospital this morning,” my mom said. “My blood pressure was all wonky and I had a headache. I was afraid I was having a stroke.”
Herb. My father, who died last week. I caught my breath.
“Stewart took you to the hospital?” I suggested. My brother.
“Yes,” she confirmed, her tone suggesting I was being obtuse. “But everything was all right. They told me I need to get a massage. I’m just tense, over the events of the last week.”
She didn’t even know she’d said the wrong name.
I didn’t point it out.
“I’m glad everything is okay, Mom,” I said.
Shawn L. Bird 