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"Goin Home"


Author: Deep Ace Thinks
ASL Info:    35/M/ Spring, TX
Elite Ratio:    2.75 - 124 /190 /60
Words: 716
Class/Type: Story /Misc
Total Views: 1238
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 4373



Description:




"Goin Home"



My Grandmother...


I remember her face like it was yesterday.



1983.

It was summertime in Galveston, Texas.

As usual it was hot as hell, and humid enough to drown.

I hastily pedaled my rickety, hand-me-down bike almost two hours to the hospital to see her that day.

She had been there for about a month or so, and my parents had been too busy to visit, so I decided to brighten her day by hand delivering some of her favorite Earl Grey.

The last leg of the trip was a real hustle due to the ominous black storm clouds lumbering in from the Gulf of Mexico.

I finally arrive at her hospital room sweaty, tired and undoubtedly stinky.

She was alone in a bright, cheery room with one window facing west with beams of the Texas sun piercing through light blue hospital curtains highlighting a table full of multicolored flowers from loved ones.

No one else was there.

Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom was on the TV with the volume cranked to maximum.

“My hearin’ ain’t whut it use ta be” She would always say in her broken southern dialect that I’ve tried so hard to shake through the years.

I gave her a kiss on the cheek, and said my “hellos”.

She asked me to turn the TV off.

She said,”Cottontop, You almost missed me, glad you’re here, need to talk to ya”.

I heard a bit of urgency in her voice, so I moved closer, & took her hand.

She told me “Grandma’s very proud of you”. (It’s funny how Grandma’s always refer to themselves in the third person) Then she said “ Seen ya growin’, like the direction you’re growin’ in.” She looked into my eyes, motioned for me to come closer. I can still see every wrinkle on her high cheek boned 85 year old three quarter Cherokee face. “You keep that direction” she whispered intently staring directly into my eyes. “You keep it, you hear me?” Her hand was small, and soft in mine. Soft, but leathery and weathered. The same hands that would lovingly grab my face before every bit of sage advice given with the importance of the ages. At times through my childhood, she’d put both hands on my face and turn it toward hers…”Say whatcha mean, and mean whatcha say…you hear me?”

But not this time.

There was no strength left in her hands to turn my face. She could barely turn hers.

Then she said, without speaking in the “third person”, “I’m tired, and I’m goin’ home. You remember me, & whut I dun taughtcha, you hear me boy?’

I said “Yes ma’am”, doing my best to understand exactly what was happening.

“Yes ma’am, I remember everything”.

Still, not understanding exactly why she was telling me these things.

But I knew something was wrong because she said “I’m”.

Then she said it again.

“I’m goin’ home now…. there ain’t nuthin’ for you to be afraid of…I’ll always be with ya”.

Then, it hit me.

I’m here, with the woman who taught me about God, family, faith, honesty, integrity, hard work, charity, humility, and patience.

And she is telling me goodbye for the last time.

I thought to myself,” We’re all alone, and she is telling me goodbye for the very last time”.

It was allot for a thirteen year old to absorb.

Life changing.

I was being hit with the cold hard reality that our time here is but a blink of an eye. Just like she always said it was.

Then she said, “Goodbye Cottontop, I’ll see you when you get home”.

She lightly squeezed my hand one last time, inhaled slowly, closed her eyes, and then exhaled.

There were no more inhales.

Just hospital sounds.

And rain.

She was gone forever.

Or…

At least until I “go home”.







AB

2006







Submitted on 2006-08-16 12:49:50     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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