Yes, Francis, I'll Go With You

“Mrs. Richard is dying. Please come up to the nursing home now to say your goodbyes,” said the Director of Nurses we had grown so close to over the past five years following my grandmother’s catastrophic stroke. She always gave us candy if we were quiet even though she was a loud, boisterous woman! I could hear her clearly through the earpiece even though I was 5 feet away. 

My dad was in the middle of a root canal his secretary conveyed but promised to meet us there as soon as he finished. “It’s your mother,” I heard my Momma grumble under her breath as she hung up the phone abruptly then herded everyone out of the door. 

“Where’s your brother? You four stay in the station wagon while I go back in the house for your little brother.” Momma seemed more frazzled than usual as she ran to the car carrying my baby brother under her arm. We forgot him at home more than once but not today. 

Popping the car into reverse before flooring the gas pedal, Mom yelled back to us kids, “Grandmother is dying. We’re going up to the nursing home to tell her goodbye before she goes to live in Heaven. You kids better behave!” 

We were more interested in the crunching of the oyster shells under the tires and the trail of white dust that followed the station wagon down the road. We thought it was hilarious to see the neighbor kids out front covered in our dust! Momma was definitely in a hurry! She cut that hour drive to Baton Rouge in half that day! 

At the nursing home, nothing seemed different. Grandmother’s stringy, pigment-deprived hair had been combed and lay neatly on her shoulders. I held my breath trying not to inhale the stench of old people and bleach. I didn’t want to catch whatever decrepit disease lurked here and take a trip to Heaven just yet! 

“Momma, she looks the same to me,” I whispered pointing to the creepy creped-skin just barely hanging on her bones. Momma just shushed me. “She’s still an old bat,” I muttered to my sister. 

As a young child, I hated going to her house. She always harped on us not to touch and use our manners as she choked us with rose-scented air freshener. Ever since the ambulance brought her here, she hadn’t moved her arms or legs or uttered a real word. Momma said, “the stroke left her paralyzed.” But, I knew it was my sister’s freeze spell hex. She was practicing to be a witch and doing a good job of it! 

“Kids, close your eyes, place your hands together, and say a silent prayer for Grandmother,” Momma said and we obliged. 

I heard the plastic bed sheet crinkle with movement and peeked with one eye at Grandmother. I just about peed my pants! I am pretty sure I heard a thud as my brother fainted. Grandmother was sitting up in bed with both arms stretched straight out. 

“Mrs. Richard, are you okay?” my Momma struggled to spit out. 

“Yes, my husband, Francis, is here with two angels at the end of the bed. Don’t you see him,” she said as clear as day pointing to the foot of the metal, institutional frame. Grandmother was the only person who called Papa Frank by his real name. 

“He wants me to go with him,” she turned to Momma and smiled. Grandmother gently closed her outstretched hands, wrapping her fingers tenderly, lovingly around the unseen. 

“Yes, Francis, I’ll go with you!” Grandmother giggled girlishly. 

And, she was gone! The weight of her head falling back hit the pillow knocking the air out with a wheezy puff. 

I am pretty sure standing there with my mouth open I had just inhaled a whole bunch of old person germs; especially, when the air pushed out of Grandmother’s pillow like a deflating accordion. I wanted to ask my sister if she smelled rose air spray but I was too afraid to break the silence of what we had all just witnessed.