I Brought the Coffee. They Brought the Conversation.

As I’ve shared, my mother has had two strokes in three months. She’s now in a skilled nursing facility, with the goal of getting to assisted living and eventually becoming mobile enough to get to Thailand.

One step at a time. Literally.

Before heading to an afternoon recovery meeting, I stopped by and found her eating lunch in the day and activity room with several other residents.

I brought her Dunkin’ coffee because the world runs on it, and medical facility coffee usually makes me question whether running is still an option.

While I was there, I found myself thinking about my old call center training days.

In a previous life, I would role-play phone calls with my classes. I played the aggressive caller, the caller with an accent, the soft-spoken caller, and the caller who was older than me.

For that last role, I would talk. And talk. And talk. And talk.

I could turn a simple account question into a scenic tour with absolutely no estimated arrival time.

But I did it for a reason. I wanted my classes to understand that a phone call might be about more than whatever appeared on their computer screen. For someone who didn’t get many visitors or have many people to talk to, that call could be a welcome chance to connect.

I wanted them to hear the person, even when the conversation took the long way around.

Today, I was reminded of that lesson.

I met a woman who told me she had lived in Pensacola, Florida. I learned that her favorite burger was from McDonald’s and that the best sweet tea came from Bojangles. And that was just part of the conversation.

I arrived with coffee and left with restaurant recommendations. A productive visit by any reasonable standard.

I don’t know how often she gets visitors. I don’t know whether she had already shared those stories that morning or had been waiting for someone to tell.

I just know she wanted to talk, and I had the chance to listen.

It made me think about how often I can get caught up in the purpose of a visit—the updates, the next steps, the things that need to get done—and forget to leave room for an ordinary conversation.

My mother’s recovery has plenty of goals attached to it right now. Skilled nursing. Assisted living. Mobility. Thailand.

But there’s also today. Lunch in the activity room. A decent cup of coffee. A conversation about burgers and sweet tea.

I’m sharing this as a reminder to myself as much as anyone else: if I have time to scroll through my phone, I probably have time to use it to call someone.

And if there’s someone older in your life, I hope you’ll make that call or stop by for a visit, too.

I don’t need a perfect thing to say. I can bring some coffee, pull up a chair, and listen.

Apparently, I can also plan my next meal.