The Heavenly Heart

by Jackie Lee Miles

  Carla’s eyes fill with tears. She hugs me again. “I wish you’d change your mind. I’m going to miss you something awful. Please, think this through—”

  I will, I promise,” I say and hug her back. My father steps off the staircase and reaches out to me.

  “See you upstairs, punkin’,” he says. “Don’t be long.”

  I half-nod my head.

  Garrett grabs Carla’s hand. Miss Lily takes hold of my father’s arm. They step onto the staircase that will take them to the Step of Discovery. They’re forever journey will now begin. They’re faces are absolutely glowing. For an instant I’m tempted to join them. I turn to look back at the Golden Window and the Silver Lining. I just can’t leave those windows. Not yet. I promised Pete I’d take one last trip with him. I did. I promised him twice. I don’t want to be a liar.

  I turn to tell the others what it is I have to do, but they’re no longer there. I hear laughter fill the air above me. My father’s voice is smooth as velvet. Miss Lily’s squealing with delight. Carla’s giggling and Garrett is ha-ha-ha-ing like his pigs. Carla’s laughing the loudest of all. I hear the door to the Step of Discovery slam shut. Then, puff! They’re gone.

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  The Golden Window

  They’re wheeling Onetta into surgery. She had to take a black pen and write “yes” on both of her breasts, being careful not to come near the mark the surgeon made earlier that would guide him to the sentinel lymph node. There’re going to check that to make sure the cancer hasn’t spread. In the operating room, the anesthesiologist injects something into her IV line. She’s a goner in five seconds. I decide not to watch the surgery. It’s too gruesome. I go to find my mother. She’s in the Family Waiting Suite reading a magazine, or at least pretending to. There’s one other person waiting, a middle-aged man.

  “Family member?” he says.

  My mother cups a hand to her ear like she’s hard of hearing.

  “Are you waiting on a family member?”

  “Ah, no, no,” mother says. “My maid. She’s, she’s been with us for years—”

  “My wife,” the man says, “both breasts. We never knew.”

  “I’m sorry,” my mother says. She stands up and picks up her pocketbook. She’s going to leave. Small talk with strangers makes my mother uncomfortable, but at least she was cordial. Normally, she would have said, “I beg your pardon?” and not answered if some strange man tried to start up a conversation. It’s a good improvement in her behavior. I mean there she was—a perfectly miserable woman with a teenage daughter—mostly never being nice to anyone and then I die, and boom, she starts being a regular person.

  I meander around the hospital looking in on other people. There’s a lot of suffering go on down here, that’s for sure. I go in and say hello to an elderly woman who’s all alone. I just stand near her side and pat her hand and give her some sips of water. She lays her head back on the pillow and nods. It’s a grateful nod. It pinches my heart. I didn’t do much, but I can tell it made a difference. It doesn’t take a lot to give a piece of yourself to another. I look all around. There are people everywhere in need of it—a kind word, a pat on the back, or even a smile. I wish I would have done that more when I was here for real.

  Before I know it, it’s time to check on Onetta. She’s in the recovery room.

  “Nodes?” she says, all woozy. “Did they finds any?”

  “No nodes,” the nurse says, who’s taking her blood pressure.

  Nodes?” Onetta says again. Maybe the drugs they gave her for surgery don’t just mask the pain—they make you forget everything, too.

  “Nope, no nodes,” the nurse says. She takes her stethoscope and wraps it around her neck with one stroke of her hand. You can tell she’s had a lot of practice.

  After recovery, Onetta’s taken to a private room my mother has arranged for on the extended recovery floor. My mother can join her now.

  “How’s our girl?” my mother says as she breezes into the room. She’s putting on her cheerful face. A nurse is pulling up the bedrails to Onetta’s bed. Good idea. The drugs don’t look like they’re out of her system yet.

  “Doing fine,” the nurse says, and pats the lump in the bottom of the bed that must be Onetta’s foot.

  “Mz. Goodroe,” Onetta says, “I’s doing real good, thanks to you,”

  “Nonsense,” my mother says. “You’re doing good because you’re doing good.”

  She takes Onetta’s hand in hers and gently squeezes it. I notice there are tears in my mother’s eyes and realize she really does care for Onetta. It’s not just an act. Onetta’s been with her for twenty years. My mother’s lost a daughter and a husband. She’s clinging to Onetta like lint on a sweater. Maybe this is good. Maybe this is all part of the big guy’s plan. Who’s to say?

  * * *

  “I’s hungry as a field hand,” Onetta says.

  “Not yet,” the nurse says. “It might make you nauseas.

  “Make me who?” Onetta says pulling on one of the rails.

  “Sick to your tummy,” the nurse answers. She makes some notes on her clipboard, then, hooks it on the end of the bed. I notice my mother’s not in the room and wonder where she is.

  “I’s sick to my stomach alright because I needs to eat sumpin’,” Onetta insists.

  “I’ll bring you some gelatin.”

  “Some what?” Onetta says, but the nurse is long gone.

  A nurse’s aid brings Onetta some jello, which she inhales. The other nurse is back and taking her blood pressure.

  “It’s down. We need to get you up and walking,” she says

  “My blood pressure always be down,” Onetta says. “I gots real good blood pressure my doctor say, but it be on the low side is all.”

  The nurse and her aid help Onetta to her feet. Between them they manage to get Onetta out of the bed and down the corridor. The IV is dangling along the side of her leg. The hospital gown isn’t doing a good job of covering her backside. I can’t help notice Onetta has buttocks the size of two tanks.

  “Now can I gets me some real food?” Onetta says.

  “We’ll see,” the head nurse says.

  “You better see’s quick,” Onetta says. “I’s gone eat my arm!”

  Onetta’s heavily bandaged around the chest and has two drains, one for each breast. They’re made of the kind of plastic you can see through. They’re egg-shaped and clipped to her hospital gown. Onetta should take a good look at the fluid that’s going through these little tubes. For sure she won’t be worried about something to eat—she won’t have an appetite until Christmas.

  “When can I go’s home?” Onetta asks, the food forgotten for the moment. Or maybe her refrigerator’s full up at home and she plans to have at it.

  “Your temperature’s up a bit,” the nurse explains. “If it’s down, and your blood pressures up, you can go home tomorrow. We’ll see. Right now, you need to get moving.”

  They keep dragging her down the hall, her buttocks wagging behind. Thankfully, one of the aids brings another gown. They slip it over her shoulders like a bathrobe and tied it in place in the front.

  “You has me flashin’ the ‘tire hospital?” Onetta says. “What be wrong with you folks?”

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  The Golden Window

  There’s nothing going on up here. Nobody interesting died, either, so I’m following Onetta’s progress, and I’m going to check on Mona and see if that no-good husband of hers—what’s-his-name—is back. And I want to see how Kirsten’s doing, too. She’s bound to run into Jeffery if he’s back from his honeymoon. My life is mostly made up of living other peoples. But I can’t help thinking about them. Like, poor Kirsten—she might still be in love with Jeffrey. And now he’s married. I mean, just because she started loving my father, doesn’t mean she stopped loving another, right?

  Onetta’s still wrestling with that nurse over her blood pressure.

  “I tells you, I always has low blood pressure.�
�

  Her protests are not doing her any good.

  “You’ll have to speak with the doctor.”

  The nurse nods hello to my mother and leaves the room.

  “Git’s me some of that coffee they gots at that Starbuck spot downstairs,” Onetta says. “And makes it two large cups.”

  “What in heaven’s name for?” My mother says.

  “So’s I can gets out of here and go home,” Onetta says.

  “If you’re tired, it’s no problem,” my mother explains and puts her handbag on the chair next to Onetta’s bed.

  “Mz. Goodroe, if you cares for me, please gets me that coffee and hurry.”

  My mother grabs her handbags and leaves. Her eyes are big as lakes, but not near as big as they get when Onetta downs both cups in record time.

  “Goodness,” she says.

  When the doctor arrives to take her blood pressure, he announces that she’s fit as a fiddle.

  Onetta beams like she’s sunshine.

  A week later they take the drains out.

  “I’s free, I tells you, I’s free!” Onetta chirps.

  My mother finds this just too funny and laughs right out loud.

  “There’s no sign of vascular or lymphatic involvement,” the doctor says. Why do they assume we know what they’re talking about?

  “The infiltrating tumor in the right breast was only 1.2 centimeters and encircled by fibrosis, which means your body had started to wall it off with scar tissue.”

  “This is good?” my mother asks.

  “It’s good,” the doctor confirms. “But the problem is the left breast. It was 2.3 centimeters by 1.8 centimeters by 1.8 ill-defined mass—”

  “Doctor, please,” my mother says, “Can you please speak in English?

  I’m with her. I’ve had it with this guy.

  “As I was saying,” the doctor says, not skipping a beat, “The mass shows fingerlike projections—tentacles holding an area about the size of a quarter.

  “This is not good?” my mother says.

  The doctor nods his head. “Not good,” he says. “But—we removed both breasts entirely, remember?”

  My mother’s relieved. Onetta’s probably relieved, too, but I can’t tell. She’s staring down at what used to be two extra-large pillows resting on her lap, and she has a very strange look on her face.

  “What is it?” my mother says and rushes to her side.

  “I hasn’t seen my stomach in thirty years,” Onetta says and grins.

  They both nearly fall over laughing.

  SEVENTY-SIX

  The Golden Window

  Kirsten no longer works for Simpson, Bartholomew, Anderson and Broughton, where she worked when she met my father—where Jeffery works. I told you she was an intelligent woman. And she’s no longer in Savannah. She’s in Cape Canaveral!

  She bought a condo directly on the ocean at Cape Winds, only steps from the beach. And she has a dog—a little Yorkshire terrier named Bill. He’s adorable and chewing on everything that dangles. They are off to the local pet store now to get him some chew toys before he completely destroys everything in the condo. It’s a totally cool place. It’s got three bedrooms, two and one-half bathrooms, a large living/dining area, a galley kitchen, and this huge entrance hall shaped like a circle. The best part is the balcony. It overlooks the ocean from every room. If they send up a rocket, she can watch right from her patio. Whooosh! There it goes. Right in front of her eyes.

  Every morning Kirsten and Bill run on the beach all the way down to the pier and, then on to Ron Jon’s. The sign out front says it’s world famous—they sell everything from bathing suits to surf boards. Kirsten stops for coffee and bagels on the way back at this little café right on the Cocoa Beach Pier. It’s a historical landmark and only 800 feet over the ocean. The view can make you stop breathing. They play Beach Boys music set to a calypso beat, which is driving me wild. I just want to boogie down on this beach, I’m telling you.

  Kirsten is teaching Bill to sit quietly at her feet while she enjoys her bagel, but he’s not doing a good job of learning. He wants all of her bagel and won’t take “no” for an answer. Kirsten gives up and together they hit the beach and walk back to the condo. Bill’s swallowing the rest of the bagel.

  She’ll probably find work in this area and live a life of absolute luxury and eventually marry her prince charming here. I mean, if you can’t find what you want in this place, you should just stop looking.

  SEVENTY-SEVEN

  The Golden Window

  Onetta and my mother are sitting in the Florida room and a new maid is waiting on both of them. Her name’s Eunice and she’ not African-American; she’s just plain American. Onetta’s getting a major kick out of this.

  “I be’s have me another cup of that tea,” she says, and Eunice comes in to pour it. “And maybe’s a few more of them cookies,” she adds.

  Eunice comes back in with the cookies and gives Onetta a look that says, Don’t push it.

  “Thank you, Eunice,” My mother says, quickly intervening. She doesn’t want to have to interview and hire another person to fill the slot. It took her three weeks and dozens of interviews to find Eunice. That’s perfectly understandable. My mother is no joy to work for, so even with plenty of applicants, probably half of them walked in, listened to my mother for like two minutes, and then pulled their hair out.

  “I wish my Clarence was here,” Onetta says, which makes my mother jump. She’s not real fond of him.

  You might remember that Clarence is Onetta’s husband who’s been friends with the devil. I gave up having him come back into the fold, but Onetta never has.

  “He be’s there for me when the chillens is born and I’s wish he be here, right now,” she says and nods her head till I’m afraid it’ll fall off. “Yes, I do’s.”

  Onetta’s been in really good spirits since she got out of the hospital, but now she starts to cry those big, fat tears again. This sends my mother up the wall.

  “Now, Onetta,” she says, “We can’t have you getting yourself all worked up. All of your energy has to be on recovery. Don’t be worrying about Clarence.”

  She fluffs a pillow behind Onetta’s back.

  “What good are men in a time like this anyway?” my mother asks. “Mostly they’re just in the way.”

  “Clarence, he be in the way pretty nice, I ‘members right,” Onetta says.

  Well—Clarence is fun to have around. He used to work for us, too, doing odds and ends around the house, till he started to drink too much. He was a big practical joker, which my mother never appreciated. He once put six packages of lemon jello in our guest toilet the night before a New Year’s Eve party—what a mess that was. Clarence had bumper stickers on his car that drove my mother bonkers. Like My son’s inmate of the month. My mother made him remove that one, so he replaced it with Honk if you’ve never seen an uzi. After that, my mother gave up and ignored him.

  Clarence could be annoying. He’d drum his fingers on every available surface. And he repeated everything someone said to him like a question. And he used to sit on the front porch and point Onetta’s hair dryer at cars to see if they’d slow down.

  “What that man be doin’ now?” Onetta would say and keep on dusting.

  Onetta doesn’t know it, but my mother’s determined to find Clarence. Oh boy—this ought to be good.

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  The Golden Window

  I will say this for my mother: determination is tattooed to her soul and dedication is permanently glued to her heart. She thinks if you put your mind to something and persevere, the results are guaranteed. But what kind of results are we talking about, right? But you don’t say that to my mother. Not if you’re smart. You just smile and agree.

  Right now my mother’s driving around some of the sleazier neighborhoods surrounding downtown Atlanta in her Land Rover, which is a perfect vehicle to hijack. I mean it has please take me at gunpoint written all over the front and rear fenders. I
n addition my mother’s still a very attractive woman and there are probably all kinds of men happy to rob her of her money and her virtue. Does this stop my mother? No. She’s determined. She’s dedicated. We already discussed that part.

  She pulls up to the corner of Alexander Street by Techwood Drive. This is where the Atlanta Union Mission is. They have a very fine spiritual-based recovery program for those who are serious about recovery. Why my mother’s looking for Clarence here is beyond me. Clarence was never looking for his spiritual growth that I recall. I do remember he was always looking for his next drink, and took lots of swigs from our liquor cabinet as often as he could. I never told. I was afraid they’d send him away for good. It was bad enough that he took off on his own for long periods of time. It about drove Onetta to a breakdown.

  “Help me, Jesus,” she’d say. “Give’s me strength, oh Lord.”

  He must have given her plenty. She never gave up hope.

  Clarence is not at the Union Mission. My mother drives home. Don’t think she has given up. She’s just moving to plan B, and part of that plan is getting a good night’s sleep before deciding on what that plan will be. My mother’s very intelligent and practical. When you consider all of her good qualities, it’s hard for me to understand why my friends never liked her—especially Paige. She said, “The real problem with your mother, Lorelei, is if she wants you to have an opinion, she gives you one.”

  Well, that parts pretty much true.

  SEVENTY NINE

  The Golden Window

  Mona and Rita and the children are in Richland, Virginia. It’s the national headquarters for the United Network for Organ Sharing, known as UNOS. There’s a National Donor Memorial there. Mona wants to visit the memorial and place my name on the wall of donors! The design of the Memorial Garden includes three rooms. Each one represents one phase of the emotional transformation that occurs during organ donation. It says so in the brochure Mona’s reading. This garden is a 10,000 square foot celebration of life. It’s a journey of Hope, Renewal, and Transformation. It says that, too. And just think? I’ll have my name in this special place for all eternity.