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And what about this one, true given? We shield our thoughts from this sad promise, and fain shock until grieving gives us shelter from its occurrence. No planning is required to bring the savior of the infirm. If every dog has their day; every person has their time. Their time to die. All cultures have certain beliefs about death. As a child I went home from Sunday Services not only assured of the fiery brimstone of hell, but certain that everyone I knew including my pets and myself were doomed to a burning ever after. As an young adult, I molded my beliefs to exclude a special place for the dammed. Now, I am one of the dammed. One who has seen passed our own simple existence, and faced a soldier from the Angel of Death. My mother told me she could not make the decision for me. After we hung up, I booked my flight and called my boss. What more of a sign did I need? The woman who had told me what to do all my life let me pay for sixty seconds worth of silence to my question, before I realized I knew exactly what to do. I needed to get home and quick; to see him before he died. Like so many other women at the end of this century, my grandfather was the only father figure I had growing up. Stoic and proud like other men from his era; he taught me all the things my mother could not or would not. He taught me how to drive, to ski on water, and to ride a motorcycle. He also taught me to follow the path of righteousness, like a lamb to the slaughter. I know better now. Death may be inevitable, but I am planning to die before I am taken. "He does not look the same" my mother had said; trying to prepare me. In the end the smell that hit me as I entered the rural hospital's door was more bracing than her words. No one can be ready to face the living dead. I first saw my mother sitting in an easy chair reading the latest best seller. She had sat vigil, almost a week, since his stroke. Endured the vile contempt he spewed at her before he became to weak. Yes it is true; we hurt the ones we love the most.She smiled at me but her eyes were not up for the lie. The labored breathing beside me was hypnotic; like the sound of sex but more desperate. I turned to greet him, but he was not there. Instead there was a small bony frame of human, skeletal with a large gaping mouth. A mouth without lips; and inside swollen, blotted lumps, yellow and red. "Poppa", I said to it but it did not respond. It gasped for air in big breaths, breathing out an odor so strong and foul I stepped back and held my breath. "This is not my grandfather" I had told myself. "I'm glad you are here" my mother had said from behind me; trying to steady me. She was spent, but my presence had kicked that maternal protection reaction imbued in all females with children. I remember turning and embracing her instead of running screaming from the room. She lead me over to the bed and we talked. She said she was not sure what he could hear, what he was really processing, and put her finger in front of her lips if I asked a question that was to sensitive.She was tired and when my aunt arrived we sent her home and settled in for the night. We swabbed his swollen tongue with sponges full of water. I put a cool wet washcloths in his hot hands to sooth him. He showed no sign of comfort for our efforts,but we continued. When I have had a fever and my hands are hot and ache, I have begged my husband for a cool cloth or even better a bag of ice. I did not feel sleepy in spite of the long flight from Los Angeles and the drive from Memphis. I was where I was supposed to be, duty and honor in tacked. My aunt and I talked to each other and the nurses, visitors, and occasional doctors that came through the door. Finally about 2:30 a.m., succumbing to the kind of tired only days of worry and poor sleep can provide my aunt fell asleep in the vinyl recliner. I was drained, and it took a while to realize I was alone with him. I lifted a chair over the hospital bed to the side next to the wall. Cramped in the space,I held his hand and spoke to him as if he were awake and lucid. "its O.K. Poppa" I repeated. After about thirty minutes of solitude his eyes opened wide and the bluish film that covered them moved to either side. "No" he said, "No"! "Please, no, help me " He raised his frail hand up to my close face and begged me no. "Its O.K. Poppa, its O.K." I would sob. But he would not be comforted as he pulled at my face and hair. Many times I leaned forward to pull his once large frame up to my embrace, but fear stopped me each time. I believed that the stranger that tugged at me, was not one of mine. Each time he blinked the blue mucus from the corners of his eyes, and pleaded for help I winced. How was I to help him; I could not stop what was natures true course. I tried to lean my body close to his, but that smell stopped me, that horrible smell. I knew that he had been bathed earlier in the day, but his breath was putrid, and with each exhale I was enveloped. He pulled and tugged at me, begging me to stop what was happening to him, but all I could reply through my tears was that it would be O.K. Soon I was crying so hard my tears were blinding, for what I saw then, I can not proclaim as fact. My grandfather's weak pleas had become demands."Free me" it hissed "free me", fear involuntary pushed me back against the wall. "Lisa, are you awake?" I whined to my aunt, who appeared in deep slummer and did not answer, despite the noise. By then my grandfather's blue eyes were completely covered with the slightly opaque film, and it was hard to make out his irises in the dim light. "Its O.K. Poppa" I repeated to reassure myself. "No" it said as it pulled at me with its bony hands."Help me" I leaned closer until the smell drove me back into the corner wedged between the wall and his bed. He seemed struggle with no one grasping the air with his bony hands. He no longer spoke words, only gurgles came up from deep within him from time to time. After a while he appeared to lose strength and closed his eyes for the last time. Exhausted, I allowed a suffocating warmth enveloped me and I felt myself being drawn into an unconscious state. I dropped in to the chair at the other coroner of the room, fear quickly gave way to relief, and I slept for several hours. I woke up when my mother entered the room fresh from a good nights sleep. "Hi daddy", she said in a slightly raised cheerful voice, and leaned over to kiss him. My whole body shuddered in repulsion and as I watched the goose bumps rise,I felt ashamed. "Are you O.K?" she had asked, even though she could see that I had been crying all night. "I don't know" I said honestly. I told her about my grandfather gaining conscious, and how I felt he was afraid of what was happening to him, but I did not relate the other things. Not what I thought I had seen, I was tired, but my understanding about what was appropriate was still intact. She sent me home, and I tried to whisk by my grandmother, who visibly lost her color at the sight of me. I quickly retreated to the den which was now my mother's bedroom since she had moved back Arkansas to take care of my grandparents. The room was big and her king sized bed still left plenty of room for other furniture and easy movement. I barely remember kicking off my shoes as I crawled under the covers ignoring the happy scampers and barks from the pack of Yorkies that my mother calls her dogs. Sleep came quickly and was so deep that I awoke in the same position, stiff and sore. As I hobbled down the hall to the bathroom I heard the pastor in the living room with my grandmother and my uncles family that has arrived while I was sleeping. As he prepared the group for prayer I moved silently into the bathroom and locked the door. My reflection was shocking, and I began to feel deceived by what I saw. swollen and red,my eye were barely slits. My usually elongated face was round, making my head seem large and alien.I turned the hot water on all the way and then inched on the cold. Steam began to rise and I left the water running unattended in search of a washcloth. The ones on the rack would not do, because I knew they were just for show, therefore dusty from months of display. I let familiarity guide me to the wall of cabinets near the door quickly locating a clean cloth. Running the hot water through the cloth, I would ring it dry then lay it on my face for a few seconds then wiped my face. Each time I raised my hands to wash my face a strange unpleasantness touched me. I can not say exactly how this feeling took place, except it seemed to enter me from my hands and travel down my body. Still tired, I was aroused by the new sensation and continued to repeat the sequence until I realized that I was reacting to an odor. Undeniably, it was on my hands.I raised my hands close to my face, and sniffed tentatively like an animal does at new food. Repulsion closed in on me and the bathroom grew large and began to rotate slowly. My knees buckled, and in an effort to save myself from clipping my chin on the sink; I braced myself with stiff arms on the ledge of the sink, and in over compensating for my recovery, pushed too hard, fell backwards and bounced my head off the back of the narrow room's wall with a resounding boom. I hoped that my descent was unnoticed and short, but before the stars were gone I heard pounding on the bathroom door. Grateful that I had the presence of mind to lock the door, I crawled over, rose to my knees and opened the door. Many heads poked though the back lit rectangle, demanding answers, but it was the pastor's face that I focused on; so sad but understanding. As if in the South it was expected during these trying times, for not one, but several family members to be overcome with grief. I was horrified by my revelation, but unmoved by the man of the cross. Still swaying, I rose to my knees again and slammed the door shut. "I'm fine"I yelled at the door and walked on my knees to the sink hoping that my rudeness would insure no other show of concern. Grabbing the bar of Dial soap from the counter, I hoped that all the antibacterial advertising was true. I flung the washcloth towards the bathtub and rubbed the soap furiously between my hands and then rinsed. I noticed that I was hyperventilating when I began to wash my face, tasting the soap; I felt bubbles grow and pop on my lips. Desperate, I tried to force my head, unsuccessfully, under the faucet. Finally, soaked from the waist up; I left the solitude of the bathroom, convinced I had cleansed myself, and hopeful I could keep the hysterics at bay. At first I raised my hands to my nose often to reassure myself that it was gone, but after an hour I would only think about what had happened and not lift either hand, afraid to check. It was not until the sun was low in the west that hunger forced me to face my fear. I was half way through my sandwich when a wave of nausea hit me, before the mental recognition of my senses. I barely made it to the bathroom, relieved that no one was in there, as I burst through the door. The barbecue pork sandwich that I missed so much since I had left the south came up easily, and I cursed myself for having so weak a character. Surely, I reassured myself, this smell is some type of pheromone that my grandfather had released. While it was disturbing, I forced myself to compartmentalize my fear, cleaned up, and readied myself to relieve my mother at the hospital. The corridors of the St. Joesph's were busy at 6:oo P.M.,so when the pastor of the First Baptist Church called out to me by my mothers maiden name as we passed in the hall. I continued on lost in my own thought, until he reached out and grabbed my arm. "Ms. McNeil" he said almost yelling in my ear, he leaned forward close enough for me to smell his breath, so dry but sweet like the breath of a puppy. "I'm Brother Williams." he said "I was at your grandfather's house today." Grandmother's now, I corrected him silently, but said angrily "I know who you are", and pulled away from him. "Let me guide you up to your grandfather's room child, I know you are upset, but you are in the wrong part of the hospital." His voice was smooth as syrup on a hot day. "I am many years past childhood Mr. Williams" I said trying not to hiss "Thank you, but I can find my way just fine" my voice coming out like acid. He seemed genuinely saddened and I looked at him closely for the first time, realizing he was not much older than me. I stood there facing him for a few moments before I felt the blood rushing to my face, and I held back my anger, more pissed off that when I had started. What a hypocritical piece of shit jerk, my mind screamed, and for a brief second, I felt like I could see myself, sneering at him, my eyes glaring passed my sunglasses I had yet to take off. As if he could read my mind he stepped back and opened his mouth to speak, only stammering a few syllables and then stating over, trying to recover. "I'll wait with you while they park" he finally said. "Oh Christ" I said bitterly, realizing he had thought I was too shaken to drive myself, but the profanity was lost on Brother Williams. He took my words as sign of my need, moved his large doughy body close to me, and guided me to a waiting area. Suddenly a lifetime of misguided reverence rumble up to the surface and I followed him passively and sat down next to him. How would I explain my rudeness? If my grandfather died, and I knew then that he would, my grandmother was going to need this man, after all, who would perform the service. I felt myself shudder, and so did Brother Williams, because he put his arm around me and pulled me close. "You know", he started, "I have a very simple view of heaven. I believe it is a peaceful place where the lion and the lamb lie down together." "Brother", I said stretching out the word with sarcasm that seemed to pass over him. He replied "Yes, my child" ignoring my previous remark. On my feet before I knew that I was standing, I gritted my teeth mustering up all the restraint I had left a said "My mother is expecting me; I have to go." Not waiting for a reply I turned on my heels and began to move away, but he seemed to anticipate my intentions and maneuvered himself in front of me. "Ms. McNeil do not fear death" he said "Please don't let the bitterness of your affliction govern your souls salvation." "It's a little early to be laying claim to my soul isn't it Mr. Williams" I said, my voice so guttural that Brother Williams felt for the first time the full force of my meaning. It was the pastors turn to flush, but he pulled his body rigid and put a grimaced smile on his face. "I'm sorry Ms.McNeil, let me assure you I will be here when you are ready. Sometimes we are overcome will emotion, it is natural of course, and I would not want embarrassment to stop you from seeking comfort." He was standing erect with his hands together in front of him. "But for now", he continued on, at least let me guide you to Mr. McNeil's room. I'm afraid you've been separated from your family." Feeling calmer, I unclenched my jaw and reminded him that I had spent he night in my grandfather's room. "Thank you, but I can find my way." "I'm aware of the braille we have here at the hospital" he answered sharply "I know you are upset, but vanity is a sin Ms. McNeil", all the syrup gone from his voice, yet still sounding righteous. "I saw your eyes this afternoon" he said with his version of indignation. Pissed beyond belief, I pulled my sunglasses down my nose and stared into his eyes. "What about them" I said boldly, but the pastor visibly blanched and backed away. "I will pray for you" he said with his back to me. "Don't bother" I answered under my breath, and it wasn't until I reached the third floor that I realized the idiot had thought I was blind. When I entered the room I found my mother on the far side of the hospital bed. She had her legs crossed, and one hand braced against her forehead, so that I could not see her face. When she looked up I could see the tears roll down her cheeks, and at first I thought she wanted me to go away, but as I was backing out the door she looked up and met my eyes, hers red, mine filling with tears, and I knew that I should stay. "Mom are you" I started but she repeated herself, and this time I heard her. "He's gone." she said simply, and I felt myself stare at her as if she had said nothing. "Just now" she said reading my mind, "he just stopped breathing." For the second time that day I felt the room expand, but this time I fought the urge to let go and moved my body between the night stand and the bed grateful for the stabbing pain from ramming my thigh into the table and forcing me look up into my mothers eyes. She needed me to be strong;I could see that, and she was scared; I could see that too. "Its O.K." I said numbly and I was grateful when she looked away, flashing her reddened eyes to the wall beside her, staring at nothing. "Have you called any anyone" I stammered, trying not to look down at him. "Yes" she replied, turning back to me. Her face seemed easy to read, and I could see her pain, but also her anger, which was unexpected and frighting. She smirked at me knowingly, and I followed her eyes down to where my grandfather lay. If the night before was a shock, it was over shadowed by what I felt at that moment. I became distinctly aware that my grandfather had not gone easy. His mouth was open wide and his swollen yellow tongue drooped out past where his lower lip was supposed to be. It appeared that he died in mid cry, but that was not what made my legs tremble and the bile rise again in the back of my throat. It was the pail opaque film that covered his eyes that made me shudder, and when I put my hand into his, it was already cold.
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