She’s Sick

When Granny Got Sick

It was just the flu.

When she got worse instead of better, she just thought she had a severe strain. She trudged along day-to-day expecting to feel better tomorrow.

She didn’t.

She finally went to the doctor, who sent her straight to the hospital. Her blood pressure had skyrocketed; she was at risk for a stroke.

Intensive care is where I found her later that night. I was determined to see her, needed to see her. She was never sick. Her being sick was unusual, and I didn’t like it.

It scared me.

She recovered enough to go home after three days. I thought that meant she was well.

She wasn’t.

When my phone rang, I answered expecting to hear her voice (thanks to caller ID). It wasn’t her. It was him (my Granddaddy). He never called.

It scared me.

He said, “Come home.”

That was all. Just. Come. Home. I said I would, but it would have to be two days from then. I would need time to situate my family. Plus, I was stalling.

Yes, I was scared.

I did go home on that Thursday. It was a slow three-hour ride. Country roads, pastures, horses, cows and dirt roads off to the side. Maybe I could turn off on a red dirt road and kick up enough dust to lose my way. Or, at least postpone the sound of words I knew I did not want to hear.

“Come home.” That’s all he would say. It was enough. Two words said all I needed to know, more than I wanted to know. My body felt crushed under them. Now driving, I was being pushed beneath the rolling waves of other words that were coming.

Maybe with the rushing water that was overtaking my senses, I would not be able to hear the words. I would not be forced to hear them. The words would sound muffled, and I would say, “What, I can’t hear you?”

Then it wouldn’t be real.

As I drove down the long country road that would lead me to their house, I prayed that somehow, I had been mistaken. Surely, this was all a misunderstanding. I would get there, and they would both be picking up the pecans that had fallen to the ground, ripe and ready for pies.

I was wrong.

I drove into the driveway with no one outside and no one to greet me at the door. She was not rushing out to greet me with her big hugs and her loving smile.

She was waiting for me, in the house, in her chair. She couldn’t get up. She could not come busting out the door with excitement to see me.

Suddenly, she was sick. Very sick.

When I saw her sitting there, it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other and go to her. She was never sick. Never.

As I slowly walked over to her, it was as if the world was standing still. She wanted to talk to me. She would tell me this herself. It would come from her. She would never allow someone else to do such an important thing. This story was hers to tell.

 

I slowly knelt down at her feet. I held her hand and looked into her face. Her beautiful face, the face that looked at least twenty years younger than it was. Strangers would stop to compliment her on that smooth, delicate skin. Even now, it was beautiful, that face.

It was her eyes though that gave it away. She had dancing eyes. They were moving all about as if they had a mind of their own. I had never seen her when her eyes were not the beautiful blue of the ocean. Yes, they were still blue on this day, but they were so busy dancing that I couldn’t find the twinkle that had been there before.

 

This post is the first in a series of three posts. The remaining posts will be coming up all within the next five weeks. Consider subscribing to the blog and receive the updates! Today, October 28th is her birthday. That’s why it starts today! 

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