PAULA NEAL MOONEY

by Paula Neal Mooney M onday morning. I had just begun to shift from weekend to work mode when my parents’ home number appeared in the Caller-ID display box on the black phone in my cube. "Hello?" I answered, cheerful yet quiet. "Where’s the body?" Mommy asked someone in the background. Ah…my quirky mother, Thelma O’Neal Dobbins. Only she would unwittingly start a conversation that way. Obviously her own mother – my beloved "Gran Ruby" – had ended her battle with diabetes and old age. I figured Mommy was calling to give me the news. "Hel-lo-o?" I sang, ready to offer my mother the same solace I did six years before, when her father died. Lived a long life…Not suffering anymore… I was totally prepared. "Yeah, Paula? Your Mommy died last night." For those words, I was totally unprepared. "What?" "Your Mommy died." Suddenly I heard the difference in their voices. I was talking to my mother’s sister, not my mother. And s...