Illness
She sat in the cold metal chair. She secured her long skirt with her folded hands pressed firmly against her knees, careful not to let the paper slip from her fingers. The icy breeze blew across her calves covered only by nylons. She hated wearing them. She kept one pair in her lingerie drawer for special occasions, and upon yesterday’s inspection found that it had a run in it. In fact, she had to go out and by this pair just yesterday for this very occasion. Kind of silly she thought at the time. I will only be there for a few minutes. There will only be a handful of people there; just family members. But this occasion was special. It was one that she had imagined many, many times over the years, although not fondly. She had often wondered how she would react, how she would feel and what she would say.
She glanced down to see her white skin peeking through the sheer black sheen of her hosiery. The hue grew darker as it extended into her black dress shoes. The modest pumps with rounded toes and low sturdy heels she knew would be more practical when walking on the soft ground covered by sparse brown grass.
She slowly began to raise her eyes to the sight before her. She had not looked upon it when she arrived, too afraid to take in too much at one time. It had been placed there prior to her arrival and that of those who followed closely behind. Propped high upon the sturdy straps it was prominently displayed; it commanded her attention. There was no way to avoid it. It seemed to convey a message to her: “This is it. This is how it ends. This is where it ends. This is what you have wondered about. This is what your fear looks like.” Staring back at her it almost seemed to mock her. She studied the soft sheen of the varying shades of silver, the mahogany handle hanging by the side. Lifting her eyes ever upward, the greenery was a bed for the pink roses cascading over the sides.
She listened to the somber melody of the familiar song being sung by the shivering lady with no accompaniment.
Through many dangers, toils and snares,
I have already come;
‘Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
and grace will lead me home.
The words cut to her very soul; and why wouldn’t they? This song had been the only one selected by her mother in recent years during bouts of depression and the piling on of guilt. “That’s just one of the standards,” she had thought at the time, “one of the go-to hymns for such occasions. Just like always, Mama’s taking a short cut and not putting forth the effort involved in making an important decision.” But as those lyrics seared into her ears and tore open the doors of her memories, she felt the overwhelming sense of finality overtake her. She knew those words had very deep meanings to the one who had requested them. So perfectly suited to her mother’s tragic journey as well as her peaceful exit, they ushered in visions of suffering, tears, despair and finally surrender.
She felt the hard lump growing in her throat and the increasing pounding of her heart. An unsettling flock of butterflies beat violently against the inside of her stomach. She heard herself take a deep broken breath but never felt herself exhale. She felt as if all of these emotions and thoughts would suddenly involuntarily explode through the portals of her soul. She did her very best to restrain them but her efforts had little effect on the heavy tears that dropped onto her cheeks. She quickly lifted her head upward, defiantly removing her gaze and thought to herself “not now.” She regained her composure and wiped away the wet intrusion from her face.
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