The Vigil (25 page)

“Only if you want to.”

“I do. I need to.”

“Very well.” I rose and extended my hand to my sweet Aunt Melanie. “Shall we?”

She placed her hand in mine, and we walked together toward Mawmaw's room. “Cheryl, I'm a little concerned about your Mama. She seems a little too calm. Is she all right?”

“I think so. I'm hoping to talk to her when we go out for coffee. Maybe, thanks to you, her newfound faith is responsible for her behavior.”

“I bet you're right. She has been reading her Bible a lot.”

We reached the door to Mawmaw's room.

Aunt Melanie glanced toward me and inhaled deeply. “Here we go. It's so hard to see her like this.”

I squeezed her hand gently. “I know. And worse, she would hate for us to see her this way.”
Lord, have mercy.

We walked through the glass door and passed the curtain surrounding the foot of her bed.

To my surprise, Mawmaw lay in bed with eyes wide open. She smiled when we came into her view. A lopsided grin. Joy bubbled inside me.
Thank You, Lord.

“Mama, you're awake. How are you?” Aunt Melanie released my hand and reached for Mawmaw's.

An incoherent guttural reply gushed from her lips. Her gentle eyes, marred with frustration, focused on Aunt Melanie as though begging to be understood. I placed my hand on the foot of the bed to steady myself. Watching her struggle so hard to speak felt like claws ripping my heart to shreds. That she would lose her ability to speak seemed so unfair. Mawmaw's words had always blessed.

Aunt Melanie brought Mawmaw's hand to her lips and showered tender kisses on her knuckles. “It's all right, Mama. I can see you're feeling better. Give it time. The words will come.”

Mawmaw's gaze softened and the earlier fear drifted away. A settled calm was apparent in her tender eyes. She nodded and a small asymmetrical smile appeared, causing her eyes to twinkle. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Mawmaw was still there. Behind the paralysis and aphasia her spirit burst through.
Thank You, Lord.

Her eyes met mine, and I languished in its bathing warmth.

Aunt Melanie stepped back and ushered me in the spot she'd occupied.

“Hello, Mawmaw. You had us all worried. I'm glad to see you're getting better. Hang in there. Aunt Melanie is right. Give it time, the words will come.”

She nodded and her lids slowly lowered. I kissed her cheek causing her to awaken. “Mama and Anthony are waiting to see you, so I'll step out.”

Aunt Melanie kissed her, too. “Sleep well, Mama. I'll be here in the morning for the next visiting hours.”

Mawmaw's garbled reply drifted toward us as we left the room. The muscles in my shoulder and neck tightened. I turned and blew her a kiss. Much to my surprise she mimicked the action. A good sign. I smiled and waved good-bye.

 

****

 

As I drove to the coffee shop to meet with Mama, I stopped at the local florist.

“Cheryl, it's good to see you. I heard you were back in town.” Angie Boudreaux stood behind the counter. While we hadn't been best friends, we had been together for all twelve years of school.

“Hello, Angie. This your place?”

“Yeah, bought it from Mrs. Waguespack about four years ago. Can I help you?”

I smiled. “Yes, I'd like to send something for Annie Battice.”

Angie nodded and wrote on the order pad on the counter. Once we'd settled on what type of spray and price, I paid the total and signed the card. In a strong hand, I simply wrote: Praying, Cheryl.

Angie looked up at me. “Ya know, Cheryl, I thought for sure you and Beau would've gotten married.”

“Yeah, so did everyone.”
Including me.
I thanked her and headed for the door.

I dialed Beau's number, expecting to leave a message just to give him my condolences.

“Hello. This is Beau.”

“Uh...uh...Beau?” His voice made me pause. I stopped on the sidewalk outside the florist. “It's Cheryl. I just wanted to say how sorry I am about Annie. How's Steven holding up?”

“He's upset, I know, but trying so hard to be brave and not show it. Continue to pray for us. We feel all the prayers and love.”

“I will.” I got the details on the funeral time and told him I'd see him there. “Hang in there, Beau. I know this is hard.”

“We've expected this for a long time, but the reality still comes crashing in. I heard about your grandma. I'm so sorry. How is she doing?” Just like Beau to think of my grandmother in the midst of his grief.

“She's awake and trying to communicate. Her speech has been affected.”

“Well, if I know Clarice, she'll figure out a way to overcome, or for sure, compensate.”

I smiled. “Yeah, I'm sure she will. Take care of yourself and Steven.”

“You bet.”

 

****

 

Mama sat across the tiny bistro table sipping on an espresso as I slid into the opposite chair. I clasped the latté she'd ordered me.

“How was Mawmaw when you saw her?”

“She was awake and trying to speak.” Mama's clipped tone lacked her usual emotion.

I paused. Should I be bold enough to ask her what was going on? But how would we ever get past our family's issue if we didn't change how we approached things?

“Mama.” I reached across the table and brushed my fingertips along the top of her hand. “What's going on?”

She met my gaze. “What do you mean?”

“You haven't been your usual self, and I'm just curious.”

She sighed. “First, my new medication is working really well. And second...” She flipped her hand over and grasped my fingers and squeezed. “...I'm finding peace in my faith. Trusting God is giving me strength to continue taking the meds and to rest in His hands through this craziness. Also, meeting Carlton seemed to free something inside of me. It was so nice to just be...accepted. He looked at me as just his daughter and was proud of me.”

When I looked at her, I saw newfound confidence—in her erect posture, in her direct gaze, and in her words. A long bound part of my heart released, and a love I have never known for her burst forth. I gently squeezed her hand to encourage her.

“All my life, Mama treated me like a porcelain doll that would break at the slightest bump. I always felt when she looked at me, she didn't really see me.” She pointed her index finger to her chest. “Now I know why. I'm sure I served as a constant reminder of Carlton. She couldn't accept me as just me. Carlton, did that today, and it felt good.”

“How do you feel about her keeping this from you?”

“I'm upset with her, but for now, I can't vent that anger. She needs my support, not my condemnation. I refuse to let my feelings get in the way of her progress. When the time is right, I'll talk with her about this.”

“Mama, you do understand why I didn't say anything about Carlton, right?”

“I understand your patient confidentiality, but I'm also a little upset you didn't tell me.”

“I know. When you called me over is when I found out for sure. I've been reading those letters to him, but never knew Lady S was Mawmaw. Speaking of letters, have you read them yet?”

“Some of them. I'll read the remainder later tonight.”

A sliver of fear pierced. Would Mama feel the same after she read the last letter?

“Mama, there is something I'm concerned about. I'm afraid that Carlton will pass away before he and Mawmaw can reconcile and she can forgive him. He needs her forgiveness so he can forgive himself. No one knew he was ill.”

Mama's gaze blanketed me with warmth and tender understanding. She patted my hand. “Wow, that's a tall order. You know there would have been a time not too long ago when I would have gone marching into her room demanding answers. Even gone so far as to drag her over to Carlton's. But this, I'm afraid, is something we can't orchestrate. Death is in God's hands. I'm starting to accept that all we can do is pray on this one and be there for them as best we can.”

This lady who sat across from me was a new Vivian. One I liked. A lot. Loved, even.

It was the Mama I craved all my life. One who gave uncritical advice, was calm and peaceful, and who offered to walk the journey beside me. This was the Mama I dreamed about and once when I was a little girl, had asked God to send me. Gratitude, strong and bold, washed over me. For the first time, I felt that our roles were right. I didn't feel the need to reassure and comfort her. She had comforted me.

I reached across the table and hugged her, spilling my latté in the process. Laughter erupted between us. “Hey, laughter laced with tears, that's my trademark.” She wiped her fingertips gingerly across my cheek then mopped up the spilled coffee. Some things were the same, and I found great comfort in that. They were the things we loved.

The new things would make us even better. In that, I found greater comfort.

 

 

 

 

Vingt-Huit

 

A week flew by. I'd arrange for Anthony to meet his grandfather. He and Carlton had much in common and told fishing stories. Well, Anthony told most of the stories, and Carlton nodded and laughed.

Mama spent as much time with Carlton as possible.

I spent as much time at the hospital with Mawmaw as I could. My time was certainly not my own. Poor Mr. Bojangles began to think I'd abandoned him. I hired a student to care for him in the afternoons and take him out for his daily walks. At least he was getting exercise. I wished I could say the same for me. Aside from an occasional stroll down Carlton's driveway, I stayed sedentary.

Mawmaw made steady, but slow, progress. This stroke had been more severe than the last one. Her speech continued to be impaired, but with the help of physical, occupational, and speech therapy she improved and learned wonderful compensation techniques.

The Fourth of July
fais do do
had been a hit, according to Debra, a small part of me regretted missing it and honoring Mawmaw. I'm not sure the truth would have come to light had I not foraged in those trunks for a costume. Guess I could thank the
fais do do
for finding my grandfather.

A week of Mama's daily visits gave Carlton a stronger will to live; he laughed more and the etchings on his face seemed to lose their depth. I walked into his room on Wednesday at noon to find Mama sitting at his bedside reading the letters to him.

“Hey, my lil...lady.”

I tugged at his toe—our morning ritual. “Hey, yourself.”

There it was, that special smile he dealt out more often these last few days than I'd seen in the whole time I'd cared for him. I leaned over and kissed Mama's cheek. “How goes it?”

“Quite well. We're reading the letters from Lady S,” she said.

I glanced toward Carlton.

His smile faded just a bit, and if I hadn't been watching him closely, I'd have missed it.

“Feelin'...all right...today,” he said.

“Really?”

He nodded but a shift in his gaze told me otherwise. His breathing came in short raspy gulps and seemed more erratic than normal.

He held Mama's hand and reached for mine. “My...girls.”

The gesture warmed my heart, but a pang of guilt bridled the edges. What would Mawmaw think about our betrayal? For it wasn't anything but a betrayal. She had not wanted Carlton in her life, Mama's, or mine. And while she struggled in a rehab hospital a mere fifty miles away, here we were comforting the very person who had caused her a lifetime of pain. I battled the demon tossing me back and forth with what and how to feel about this unusual circumstance.
Lord, show me what You want me to see from this.

With my left hand, I patted his bony, wrinkled hand clenched to my right. “Carlton, let me review your chart and see what medication you may need. I'm glad you're enjoying your time with Mama.”

“I am.” He turned toward her. “She's...so...kind.”

I glanced toward Mama. Her cheeks blossomed into a rosy shade of pink and her eyes twinkled. “I'm just glad I can be here with you.” She tucked a loose corner of his blanket. I absorbed the scene and etched it in my mind. Mama in the role of caregiver again, but this time, she reveled in it. Flourished from it.

On my way to the kitchen, I placed my hand on her shoulder. “Can you help me in the kitchen for a second?”

“Sure.” She arranged the letters on the nightstand and followed me down the hall. “What's wrong?” she whispered.

I refrained from answering until we were away from Carlton's hearing.

Once there, I turned toward her. “How long have you been here?”

“Since seven.”

“So you haven't gone to see Mawmaw this morning?”

“No.” She pursed her lips. “I can't see her right now. And besides I like getting to know
my
father.”

I sighed. “You're having a hard time holding your anger, aren't you?”

She slumped into the red vinyl chair at the kitchen table. “Yes.”

I sat next to her. “Mama, you have to decide how you're going to deal with this. But you will have to deal with it. Avoiding her is not the answer. Remember, you told me about this all being in God's hands.”

She exhaled, long and low. “I know.” Mama lowered her head and traced the curly-cue patterns on the Formica tabletop. “Cheryl, I feel cheated, and I'm having a hard time overcoming that I've missed out on knowing my father. I can't help but blame Mama for it.”

“You haven't read the last letter have you?”

She lifted her gaze. “No. Why?”

“Because I think it will help you understand. Wait here.” Standing next to her, I placed my hand on her shoulder and silently prayed.
Lord, work in her heart.