“Linda called last night,” she’d say. “We talked for a whole hour. She’s so busy out there in Portland but she always makes time for her mama.”

Or it’d be Greg, the son out in Denver. “Greg’s coming for Thanksgiving this year, Walter.

Says he’s bringing the grandkids.” She’d just light up telling me. And I’d nod and say that’s wonderful, Ruth, that’s just wonderful. Why wouldn’t I believe her? You don’t think a person would make that up.

Last Tuesday I knocked twice. Nothing. That happens, sometimes she’s in the bathroom or still in bed, so I waited and knocked again. Still nothing. No little wave at the window either, and that’s what got me. Ruth always waves. So I went around the back the way I do, and wouldn’t you know it, the back door was unlocked. Ruth never leaves that door unlocked.

I called her name from the doorway. “Ruth? It’s Walter.” And then I saw her.

She was on the kitchen floor in her nightgown. One slipper on, one slipper off, a few feet away like she’d kicked it. And her phone was up on the counter. Six feet from her hand. She had her arm stretched out toward it, fingers reaching, like she’d been reaching the whole time. I want you to picture that. Two days of reaching for something six feet away.

I got down on the floor next to her and her eyes opened a little and she said my name. Just, “Walter.” Real soft. I told her not to talk, told her I had her, and I called for the ambulance with my own phone because hers was clear up on that counter.

The paramedics got there fast, I’ll give them that. While they were working on her one of them looked up at me and asked who found her.