Sadie's Mountain (26 page)

“I can’t do this,” I state, as if it’s a fact we all know to be true.

“Anything I can do?” Dale asks Dillon.

“She’s having a hard time dealing with all the visitors,” Dillon explains.

“Heck, we can just ask ‘em to go on home. It’s late,” Dale decides.

Upstairs, I hear a man’s voice saying, “Lord, we pray for healing,. In Jesus’ name, Lord. Heal this woman, let her get up and walk, Lord!” His words make me sour and bitter. I feel a ball of fury, of anger, of resentment growing in my gut. How dare he demand healing? He should be praying for her to feel peace, not asking for what isn’t even possible.

I start walking toward the stairs as if in a trance. Dillon comes up next to me, holds my hand, and heads up the stairs with me. It makes me dizzy so I stop midway up the staircase. I close my eyes and breathe. I listen to the sounds of the prayers. They sound like childhood—both good and bad.

 Their songs pull on a string attached to a memory in my brain. The echoes of memories, of melodies, voices bouncing off the walls in church are all coming back to me. I remember how Momma’s off-key voice comforted me as Daddy stood up behind the podium looking handsome in his grey suit. Missy was to one side of me. Momma to the other. I remember the scent of the church, like Sunday bests, watered-down coffee, wooden pews rubbed with oil. I remember the hue of the red carpet. The way my shoes sunk into it just enough not to click as I walked down the aisle.

I remember how all of us singing together felt like being wrapped in a warm blanket. How it touched my heart. I remember the way Momma looked from below, as I was so little, while she raised her arms to the Lord, her fingers reaching gently like a dancer’s would. Her arms swaying. Her face at peace. That’s how I want her to feel now. If they do that for her, if these prayers make her feel good, then I’m glad they’re here—I have to be, for her.

As I walk down the hallway, my breathing has quickened so much that my limbs are tingling. My heart thumps. My scalp prickles and my face feels puffy and hot. The voices are loud, but I tell myself that they are soothing, even though my body says to run away, to hide in a corner. They are just people after all. They are people I know. They are people who once loved me.

I look up at Dillon just before we make it to the entrance of Momma’s room. He looks worried. His eyebrows are furrowed. His mouth in a thin line. His jaw is clenched. He squeezes my hand and I force myself to smile. Not a fake smile. A real one meant just for him. I look back at the open doorway and walk in. Momma looks pale. Her mouth is open as if her jaw is not strong enough to keep it closed anymore. Her eyelids are slightly open. She’s completely still.

Dillon lets go of my hand as I walk past everyone, tuning out all of the singing. It’s as if Momma and I are alone. I stand by her bed; tilt my head sideways so I can look at her straight on. I pick up her hand. She feels so cold, but I can hear her slight breaths, breaths that sound like she’s gargling marbles, so I know I’m not too late.

“Momma,” I say. She stirs and squeezes my hand, her mouth closes and her eyes open and find mine. “I want you to know how much I love you, to thank you for being there for me all of my life. For loving me no matter what.” She smiles ever so slightly.  “There’s so much that’s honorable about you, right down to the core-good. Anything that’s good in me, it came from you. From everything you taught me. And I just want to thank you for letting me go even though it broke your heart. You are so selfless. I’m so sorry that I left you. I really, really am. But I want you to know that I will protect the mountain. I’m staying here with Dillon. I’ve decided to move here and take my life back.”

She nods her head. Her voice is gone. I know she cannot answer me. It pricks a hole in my chest. I will never hear Momma’s voice again. I grit my teeth, my legs collapse and I put my head down on the bed. I hear them praying again. For a while I’d tuned them out, but now I hear them singing. Some are praying. Some are speaking in tongues. The room is spinning although I’m completely still. I feel the bile start to rise in my throat. I need to run but my legs feel about as sturdy as water.

“Dillon,” I say. I feel him picking me up in his arms like a weightless flower. “I’m going to throw up,” I say, putting my hand over my stomach.

He walks me toward the bathroom, setting me on my knees in front of the white porcelain. Everything comes up. My pain, my fear. It’s emptied out of me until I feel as though I could float away.

“Do you need a doctor?” he asks. I realize he’s holding my ponytail back for me.

“No, Dillon. Please. Don’t embarrass me. I just need to sit here a minute to catch my breath.” My knees are pressing into a pink bathroom rug. I remember this bathroom rug, actually. She’s had it a long time. I lean into Dillon’s chest as he reaches up, grabbing a washcloth from the towel rack. I hear the water run. I close my eyes as he washes my face with the warm cloth that smells like Momma’s soap.

 I realize that my chest is sweaty and my eyes feel like they are bulging out even though my eyelids are closed. He wets the cloth again and unties my scarf. He runs the warmth soothingly along the back of my neck. My whole body aches. I wish I were numb. But I don’t want to slip into that hollow reality. I want to be here for Momma.

“I need to go back,” I say. My throat is so sore.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“I need some mouthwash.”

“Let me look,” he says, as I hear him rummaging through the cabinet under the sink. I keep my eyes shut. The light hurts my brain. It feels like knives piercing into the soft tissues behind my eyes. He hands me a little cup and I swish, and he stands me up next to the sink so I can spit. I splash my face with water. When I open my eyes, I’m shocked by what I see in the mirror. This is not the ‘me’ I’m used to. This woman has been through it. What stands out the most are the deep-set eyes with gloomy circles around them the color of night. My skin actually looks to be olive green. And without my scarf, I can see the scars on my neck. Three of them. Two short, one long. I lean down to pick up my scarf. As I’m tying it around my neck...

“Momma!” Missy yelps from the deepest part of her soul. My eyes dart to Dillon and he looks panicked. His eyes are too wide. I don’t want to go. I’m stuck for a moment. I know my Momma is gone, but my legs turn into springs beneath me. They run of their own free will.

Verta Lee, our church secretary, is wringing her hands in the doorway. “She’s gone,” she says, her eyes watering as I run past her. Missy is holding Momma’s hands but I can’t look at her yet. I’m too scared.

The familiar people in the room are defeated. Their last minute pleas to God did not work. I’m no longer angry with them. All of their intentions came from a good place in their hearts. I know that. I feel their sadness. The room is enveloped in it. As I walk toward the bed, I catch a strong scent of some flower that never existed before—very strong, pungent, but sweet and soothing.

I don’t know what tells me this, but somewhere in my depth, I know this scent is Momma’s spirit, freed from the body that betrayed her and wasn’t strong enough to hold her any longer. It feels as though her spirit is joyful, free. I’m glad for her. Sad for me, for Missy, for the boys, who I realize have been here all along. But I’m happy for her. I take in her jubilant scent; make it a part of me. I hold it in. I feel Dillon standing behind me. He touches my arm, and I reach back inviting him to come with me as I say goodbye to the shell that used to be my momma. 

I touch Missy’s back. She’s shivering. I still haven’t looked at Momma. “Do you smell it?” she asks me.

“Yes,” I say.

“We all do, dear,” says Verta Lee. I look at her and nod my head. Missy stands up and grabs me. Her knees buckle under her and I struggle to hold up her slight frame. She’s always been so solid, so resilient. “This ain’t fair,” she says, into my neck. Her body is full of tremors. I hold her and let her grieve. “It ain’t right!” she yells. It’s so true. We knew she was leaving, but knowing it and actually having it happen are two different things.

“Thank you for all you did for Momma,” I say. She squeezes me tighter; her cries are coming up from her gut. I still smell the flowers. I breathe them in. “You did such a good job,” I say. I don’t have tears. I’m solemn. This doesn’t feel real.

 Behind her, Dale comes up and rubs her back. He’s got his head down, and when he lifts it, I see that he’s wiping his eyes with a white handkerchief. Her legs must take form again because I feel her lessen her grip on my shoulders. She kisses me on the cheek.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” she says, turning around and letting Dale take her out of the room. That’s when I notice Jake and Seth are rubbing their eyes as they stand on the other side of the bed. They are both looking at her. They look quietly resigned but there seems to be despondency in their eyes. They aren’t as angry as Missy.

I close my eyes. “Dillon,” I whisper. I hear crying, some soft, some loud and sniffley. I feel him come up behind me. His body is warm, and radiates kindness. “I can’t look at her,” I say. “What does she look like?”

“She looks peaceful,” he says, into my left ear, as he wraps his arms around my waist. “Her mouth is open. Her eyelids, too. But she looks calm. She’s not in pain anymore, baby.” Slowly, I open my eyes. I force them to look down at her. I gasp slightly because she is definitely no longer living. It shocks me, even though I knew it. She looks empty, like a doll on a shelf. There’s no other way to describe it. Her eyes look grey, vacant. Her spirit no longer rages behind them.

My hand is reaching out of its own free will. I see my fingers in her hair, pushing the thin strands away from her face. I’m surprised when her face is still warm. I thought death was cold, but I’m mistaken. Her skin is soft under my fingertips, like a peach just off the vine. I have to open my mouth to breathe. I need more air than my nose alone can provide.

I pick up her lifeless hand. It’s cold, pliable. I place her hand over her stomach. I look at the boys, and Seth reaches over, picks up Momma’s other hand placing in on top of the first. Jake reaches up and closes her eyes with the tips of his thumb and forefinger. I look at Momma sideways.

This was the vessel she walked the earth with, but I know her spirit is free. She feels no more pain, or sadness. No regret. It pains me to see her this way. The reality of it feels like a cold wind rushing through my veins, but this isn’t about me. This is Momma’s passage—her journey to heaven. What a privilege it is to be here, to have said goodbye, to know that I can keep Momma alive in me, in my actions, in my promises.

That’s when I think of the scripture, “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints,” I say out loud, causing Momma’s church friends to begin crying out. One of them starts singing
Amazing Grace
. More voices join in. Their voices are rising, and rising. But I’m no longer afraid of their sentiments. They are soothing to me, too. They remind me of innocence, of times when everything was as it seemed right on the surface.

“Is that Psalms 116?” Dillon asks. His arms are still wrapped around me. I lean into him for support and nod. The scent is gone now. Her spirit has dissipated, gone to where she’s always known she was meant to go, to her Heavenly Father.

I can hear her telling me about heaven with its pearly gates. How up there, you don’t look old. You look the way you did when you were at your happiest. I can see her that way, too. She’s wearing her Sunday best—a pretty flowery dress that came to her knees. It has buttons up the front that look like little pearls. Her eyes are a greyish blue with life in them again. Her long dark hair falls in curls down over her shoulders. I can smell her favorite perfume that came out of a little bottle that she used to dab just behind her ears. And if I concentrate, I can hear her voice singing with them. Her voice, off-key but pure and vigorous, reaching the notes, rising above it all. That’s where she is. Where she has to be.

When I look up, Missy is standing in the doorway. I don’t think she can come back in. She looks frozen, rigid. Her eyes are red and her cheeks are wet. She’s waiting for the song to end.

“I called Restlawn. They’re on their way ta come’n get Momma,” she says in a monotone Oh, yes, Restlawn Memory Gardens. That’s where I sent the gaudy flowers when Daddy passed on. I know it’s wrong, but I don’t want anyone to touch her. If I stay here, I’m going to panic when they take her away.

“Dillon, can we go now?” I ask, squeezing his hand.

“Yes, baby,” he says, and I turn to face him. I bury my wet face into his chest. “Thank you,” I say. He says nothing. He quietly takes my hand as we walk away. I turn one last time to look at her. The boys are still standing there. From this angle, she just looks asleep. She looks beautiful, actually. No more pain in her face. Just peace.

As we walk down the stairs, I don’t feel like I thought I would. I’m not numb, I’m not cracked and fragile. Maybe it’s just not real to me yet. I’m not going to question it. I’m grateful for this. I was able to say goodbye to my momma— and it didn’t break me. This must be the new me.

Chapter Twenty-One—Don’t slip away

She was warm,” I say, after we’d sat in silence all the way down Brandon Street, his hand on mine over the center console.

“I’m sorry, Sadie, what do you mean?” he asks.

“She was warm, her face was, when I touched her,” I say, as I stare at the bright yellow line down the center of the road as it dots past us on the left side.

“Oh, yes. Baby, she’ll be warm for a little while. She’d just stopped breathing.”

“Just stopped,” I repeat. How do I make sense of that? Momma doesn’t breathe anymore. Her body is empty, her eyes were dead. I close my eyes. I try to remember them when she was alive. I can’t. I just keep seeing her eyelids as slits. Her vacant stare as she looked out from them in death.

“Dillon, who comes to pick up my momma’s body?” I ask, as the car suddenly feels very tiny and lacking of air. I push my hand into the car door to try to make it bigger in here.