Page 2 of A Taste of Grace

I was proud that I did not let that emotional abuse prevent me from centering Mama. I shielded her from the hell that was happening as best I could, but my mother was nobody’s fool. Our family strife was probably what took her out sooner than the hospice nurses predicted. As the matriarch of a complex family, Mama most likely died of a broken heart and probably worried if I would be able to survive without her.

My eyes gravitated to the fragrant spray of white and pink roses on her casket.

“The service was beautiful, Mama. Please don’t be angry with me, but I can’t live without you,” I spoke softly and eyed the plot of land next to us, realizing that soon, I would be buried there.

Fresh tears rose as I stood with my hands clasped in front of me. My eyes blurred as I pictured how no one would be at my funeral the following week. They’d be preparing for festivities with their loved ones right before the Christmas holidays.

“Do you need anything else?” The elderly mortician interrupted my thoughts.

His extended hand lingered near my arm as if he genuinely wanted to comfort me. The faint scent of his cologne met my nose, reminding me of my late father and how he never left home without smelling good. As he peered into my eyes, waiting for me to say something, hot tears burned my throat.

I wanted to pour my broken heart out to this stranger who asked the right question at the wrong time. I wished someone, anyone, had asked me what I needed weeks ago, but it was too late for that now.

“No thanks. I’m fine.” I spoke the words with a crispness that sounded rude and dismissive, but I didn’t care.

“Okay. We’ll drive you back to the family home since there’s no repast.” He spoke his words slowly, never taking his eyes off me.

He turned his broad body sideways, extending one arm to the late-model gray limousine parked on the side of the road and the other arm toward me as if he was waiting to catch me if I collapsed.

I straightened my spine and nodded, following him closely. I took deliberate steps, remembering to keep my smile intact until we reached the car.

“Thank you again,” I said softly as he opened the door and finally stopped staring at me with concern.

When I entered the vehicle, warm air from the backseat vents hit my face. Tender, contemporary gospel music filled the high-end speakers, tempting my body to sway as the choir’s three-part harmonies promised hope and renewal. Their words threatened to embrace me like a hug, but I shut my eyes and blocked out that warmth. It was too late for all that.

Instead, I allowed my body to go limp, bitterly thinking how critical people were probably being about not having a repast for my mother, who was one of the best cooks in the county. I didn’t have enough time or energy to do more than plan the service and contact everyone about the funeral.

Thank goodness for that kind mortician. He would do a great job with my service too.

We slowly began the trek toward my childhood home. Familiar landmarks, the Piggly Wiggly, the community bank, and my high school, all decorated in festive Christmas lights, met my eyes for the last time.

Could I have done something differently? Something more? I clenched my fists hard and dug my nails into my flesh so deeplythat the black lace on the glove in my right hand tore against the thin fabric.

Nothing mattered or made sense anymore. I was alone, abandoned, unloved, unseen, unheard, and invisible. The last person who truly ever saw the good in me was dead in the shiny box at the cemetery. Death made more sense than life. Thank goodness that tomorrow, on my fortieth birthday, this pain would finally end.

Revelation

Two DaysLater

“She’s up.” A soft country voice across the room spoke as I opened my eyes and turned toward it.

Two women wearing aqua hospital scrubs, one slim and the other thick, huddled in the corner with medical charts in their hands. When I groaned, they turned toward me. The slim one smiled as bright as the light that shone from the rectangular windows behind them. The thick one exited and quietly shut the door.

Oh no.

Panic filled me as the steady beeps of the machines interrupted my thoughts. This wasn’t heaven or even hell. I was still very much alive and in a hospital bed, hooked up to complicated-looking machines.

I raised my hand to massage my throbbing temple but couldn’t. Like a caged animal, I was tethered to the bed rails on either side of me.

“Uh!” I shouted and jerked the loose restraints that held my wrists firm. “Cut me loose!”

My voice rang above the room’s machines. The friendly-looking woman rushed to me and patted my right leg.

“Calm down, Gracelyn. You’re safe.” She repeated her pats and assuring words until my body stilled.

“It’s Grace.” I closed my eyes and took several breaths, inhaling the sharp smell of disinfectant.

Mama always kept a clean house.

---