Nothing brings a family close like a crisis. After I got back from a week-long mission trip to Meridian, MS, I went with Mom and my sister to see Mamaw in the hospital. Mom tried to prepare both of us about how to present ourselves when we saw her. They’d almost lost her this last Monday night, and by tonight she was doing so much better, though still on a ventilator, so she couldn’t speak. But when we walked in, Maleah’s blue eyes teared up and I had to step in between her and Mamaw.
Here’s the kicker: my cousin Adam is a Marine, stationed in Afghanistan for the last little bit. He was able to make his way home on leave for a medical emergency, but Mamaw didn’t know he would be there. I told her that we was here right before he walked into the room, and she opened her eyes with more activity than the rest of the family has seen in the last week. When Adam walked over to her bedside and spoke to her–told her he loved her–she raised both her arms and actually began to sit up. Adam looked around, his tough face quivering a little, and said, “I can’t hug her… I don’t want to mess anything up.” Mamaw collapsed back onto the bed, and I nearly had to leave the room. I’d kept my composure until then, but seeing her in pain without being able to speak or hardly move gets me deep down.
It’s not death that bothers me. I’m fully aware that I and all those I love will die someday–my grandmothers most likely sooner than the rest. As a Christian I do not mourn like those without hope. Instead, I am sure that anyone of my Christian brothers or sisters dies, he or she is finally becoming the creature that God originally intended him or her to be. I’ve thought more on this, but I have this bad habit of posting serious thoughts at late hours, and after being on a hot roof in the Deep South this week, I’m pooped. Tootles.
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