by J.E. Bolton
My luggage dropped to the floor. “Granny,” I called aloud, “I’m here!”
Once again, no one answered.
Granny Grayson was nowhere to be found. I assumed Mattie took her to the beauty parlor for her special day. My great-grandmother was always about appearance. Her house was going to be filled with family and friends, and she had to look her best.
The front door flung open wide. Mattie rushed through the threshold and toward me. She was visibly upset, but something else wasn’t right. Granny Grayson was nowhere to be found.
“Jacob,” she said between hard, gasping breaths. “Thank God you’re here.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked stunned, looking around the room. “Where‘s Granny Grayson? Is she okay?”
Mattie placed her hands over her sobbing mouth. “She’s in the hospital.”
The news took me aback. “The hospital? I spoke to her yesterday on the phone, and she sounded fine,” I protested.
“I went to wake her this morning, but she never woke up.”
Dear God, no. Nervous dread quivered in my voice, as I forced the words out of my gaped mouth. “Is she dead?” I asked.
Mattie shook her head. “Not yet,” she replied.
My knees felt buckled and my heart raced. “What do you mean, not yet?”
“The doctor said she suffered a severe brain hemorrhage. Considering her age, he doubts she’ll live through the night.”
I started to leave. “Let’s go,” I said.
Mattie stopped me. “I just came from there, Jacob. Go and be with her now. I’ll stay behind and let everyone know what’s going on. Your father needs to know, too.”
It was habit for me to protest my father being included in anything concerning my family. For once, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting to Granny Grayson before it was too late.
*****
The hospital was only minutes away. I parked my vehicle, hurried inside and rode the elevator to the fifth floor. It was a special floor, the place people were taken to die. I walked inside Granny Grayson’s room. The atmosphere felt cold and strange. Nothing disturbed me more than the sight of her in a hospital bed waiting to die.
Several questions formed in my already-troubled mind. Out of all the people in the world to die, why her? My emotions were usually bottled tight inside me. I never cried, even in situations when tears were understood but the impact of her dying finally hit me. I dropped to my knees, knelt beside her near-lifeless body, and wept heavily.
Granny Grayson often discussed things she wanted to do before she died. She always said God gives everyone a to-do list, and no two lists were exactly the same. One of the items on her list was to visit her ancestral homeland of Ireland.
Nothing compared to her mother’s stories of Ireland. Her teary eyes danced with joyous tales of rolling green hills as far as the eye could see, and blissful reunions with loved ones. It was an ironic thought at that moment. These were also things she felt made Heaven.
There was nothing else I could’ve done for Granny Grayson. She didn’t respond each time I called her name. All I could do was kneel beside her, brush the gray hair from her wrinkled brow, and hum a tune I heard her sing many times but never would again.
I spent the final night of my great-grandmother’s life holding her hand, until the rolling green hills of Heaven beaconed her home.
CHAPTER 3: A TIME TO EMBRACE, AND A TIME TO REFRAIN
FROM EMBRACING
Morning finally came, and Granny Grayson was gone. The sight of her lifeless body stunned me. Her tight, alabaster-gray skin. The chill of her stiff hands. Death came and took my precious Granny Grayson. Everything about her that was once energetic and lively was no more.
Two men from the local funeral home arrived and collected her body. I didn’t stay. The sight of her body being carted off on a bagged gurney would’ve been more than I could handle.
Going back to the old home place was a worse experience. Granny Grayson’s untimely absence made the house feel barren like a mausoleum. Colorful streamers and banners with the intent of celebrating her one-hundredth year became nothing more than a painful reminder.
I walked upstairs and slowly paced down the hallway to Granny Grayson’s bedroom. The bedroom door was partially open, and a lit glare cast a faint shadow on the room’s floor. My mind reeled with a thoughtless and naive possibility.
Granny Grayson?
I hurried to the room and rushed through the bedroom door. It was Mattie, who appeared startled by my actions. She briefly closed her eyes and drew seemingly hard, nerve-wracked breaths.
“Jacob, you scared me to death. What are you doing in here?”
“I didn‘t mean to scare you,” I replied. “I’m not sure why I came in here. Are you here for the same reason I am?”
“I’m just looking. I’m not sure why, either.”
Memories of Granny Grayson was everywhere in that room. Mattie appeared more numb than I was. Even her favorite Easter dress, lavender with a white laced trim, was such a sorrowful sight. Death was usually a time for families to come together and set aside our differences. Not our family. As always, leave it to the Grayson clan to be far from normal.
A death in the family wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Mattie and I were never really close, despite the loving display we always showed toward one another in front of Granny Grayson. One of the things that bothered me most about Mattie was she resembled her mother more than my comfort level tolerated.
There’s another reason I never got to know Mattie. My thought process was simple in regards to matters of the heart. People leave anyway, and forever’s too damn temporary. Why should I be foolish and love another person who will eventually leave anyway?
Then, the front door slammed shut and a voice cried aloud. “Mattie, are you here?” It was my father.
She paused for a moment. “I’m upstairs!”
My heart raced, as my father’s footsteps sounded closer. He walked into the room and paused, evidently shocked by my presence. We locked eyes for a brief moment, and he quickly looked away. The undying, never-ending tension began again.
Mattie embraced my father and apologized to him for his loss. She was compassionate, but I wanted to beat the living hell out of him. Instead, I remained silent and did nothing.
It was evident my father did anything he could to prevent an argument. He glanced around the room for something, anythingto kill the seemingly awkward tension. He picked up a framed photo and showed it to Mattie.
His eyes danced, as he fondly recollected the moment. “This was the summer I taught you how to swim, Mattie. Do you remember?”
Mattie glanced at the picture and smiled. “Yes, I do. The lake behind the house has always been special. In fact, Jacob was the youngest fisherman ever to catch Old Sally. Grayson Pier was always so special.”
My father attempted to extend an olive branch to me. “Do you remember, Jacob?” He asked.
I tried to appear too distracted to notice. “I remember.”
My father kept the seemingly harmless momentum going. “We had some great memories, too. Didn’t we, Jacob?”
A twenty-five year old wound ripped wide open, fresh once again. His innocent and uncouth choice of words shocked me. I stopped. My eyes blared enraged at him. Nothing about Robert Grayson had changed. He always knew how to hurt me, whether he meant to or not.
I tried hard to keep peace with my father. God knows I did, but I couldn’t do it. To hide the hate I felt toward him would’ve been nothing more than a lie, and the truth always had a way of coming out.
Our eyes locked again. “Don’t you think it‘s a little too late for a warm family moment?” I asked.
Mattie raised her hand toward me, as though my actions were out of line. “Not during a time like this, Jacob.”
My enraged plight continued. “I’m just shocked to see him here, is all.”
My father appeare
d confused. “Why wouldn’t I be here, Jacob? She was my grandmother and I loved her dearly.”
“Oh, I understand why you‘re here,” I replied. “Granny Grayson’s funeral conveniently works into your hectic schedule. You’re here, Robert. Great job. You obviously deserve a good Samaritan medal.”
Awkward silence hung heavy in the air. I smirked at his stunned reaction when I called him by his first name. Robert. He remained silent, and Mattie appeared stunned.
My father drew a hard breath. “If you‘ll excuse me, I’m going to go by the florist and make sure everything‘s ready,“ he said.
Heavy, unnecessary feelings hung heavy in the room. He took the dress and accessories and quickly left the room. Mattie ran after him. I paused for a moment and realized the consequences of my actions.
Hurtful things were brought to light. They didn’t come from my father but by me alone. My careless actions weren’t needed, especially since we’d just lost our beloved Granny Grayson.
Something was needed. Despite my eternal, deep-seated anger toward my father, I needed him, his fatherly embrace and his alone. Instead of making peace with the man, I retreated to the dark, familiar corner of my world and wilted like a small child.
My bitter feelings needed to be postponed. There was a more pressing matter that needed to be resolved. I had to find a way to say goodbye to the heart of the Grayson family, a heart that finally stopped beating.
*****
Granny Grayson’s memorial service was a true celebration of her life. We missed her terribly, but to have known her made our lives happy and complete. Her seemingly flawless example created an unforgettable legacy of love and light that would live on forever.
My father and I were another story. We hadn’t spoken since our confrontation. Mattie sat between he and I during the funeral. It was better that way, since this latest damage was done on my part.
The burial service was held shortly after the funeral. Each person walked up to her casket, said their final goodbyes, and left. Grief made me too numb to feel, and the result from mine and my father’s unexpected reunion left me with no more tears to cry.
My father started to leave. We caught a glimpse of one another from a distance, our faces void of expression. Nothing was said, not even a nod, as we went our separate ways. It was obvious we’d never see one another again after that day, and perhaps it was for the best.
Before I left Weatherton for good, there was one more final place I needed to visit. I hadn’t visited it in years, but it was my first thought when I woke in the morning and my last thought before going to bed at night.
The immense pain inflicted by my father didn’t compared to it. Even the sight of it stirred sharp, bitter feelings I was certain dwindled away with time. I thought they’d simply go away on their own but never did.
To anyone else, it seemed like just another grave. However, this grave was different. It was nothing more than a cruel reminder why I left Weatherton years ago and never looked back.
The grave belonged to Anna Marie Grayson, my mother.
CHAPTER 4: A TIME TO LOVE, AND A TIME TO HATE
AUGUST 24, 1981
It was early morning. A chorus of nearby birds chirped in mixed unison. The pink sun brightly burst through the translucent fog and through my bedroom window, waking me from a deep sleep.
Two special events took place that day. It was my sixth birthday, as well as first day of school. Turning another year older was a wonderful experience for me, but my first day of school was different.
“It’s time to wake up, birthday boy,” Mama called aloud from another room. “Today’s a big day for you.”
I rubbed my eyes, climbed out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen table. Mama lit a small candle stuck into a piece of cinnamon toast and sat it in front of me. My eyes widened surprised, as I blew out the candle and made a silent wish.
She smiled. “Remember, Son. Don’t tell anyone what you wished or it won’t come true.”
“Like wishing upon a star,” Is said with widened eyes full of wonder. “The biggest and brightest star in the whole sky.”
“Just like a star,” she replied, staring at the clock on the wall. “Now, eat your cinnamon toast. You don’t want to be late for your first day of school.”
Several minutes passed, and Mama finished cleaning the kitchen. I picked at my toast. Nothing about my first day of school excited me, and anything Mama said wouldn’t change my mind.
Mama watched me and seemed aggravated. “Jacob, hurry and eat. We‘ve got to get going soon.”
I folded my arms and frowned. “Mama, I don’t want to go to school. Can‘t I go with you to your new job?”
She walked over to the table and took a deep breath. Her soft, lotion-scented hand lightly stroked my hair. A slight feeling of ease sat in, as her heartfelt speech began.
“Honey, we’ve already discussed this. I’ve got my new job today, so I can afford to go to nursing school. Don’t you remember when we talked about this?”
I still didn‘t care and desperately continued my plight. “School’s stupid, and the teachers will be mean to me. I just know it.”
Mama got up from her seat and grinned. I knew what would happen next. It was plan B, a scheme she always concocted in order for me to agree with her.
She turned her back to me. “I give up, son. You can go to work with me. I suppose your teacher will have to give your cookies and milk to someone else who will go to school today.”
My eyes widened intrigued. “Cookies and milk?”
Mama shook her head and continued. “Yes, and some little boy will get to play with your rubber ball during recess, too.”
I became gravely concerned. “What other little boy?”
Mama shrugged her shoulders. “The other little boy who’ll take your place at school today.”
My curiosity peaked, and my feelings about school changed. “Well, school might not be too bad.”
“But, you don’t want to go to school, Jacob. Remember? Besides, that little boy will also get to eat the lunch in your Kermit the Frog lunchbox.”
Childish worry swept over me. My mind raced with thoughts of some little boy partaking in all the good things that awaited me at school. I darted away from the table and grabbed my lunchbox.
Mama smiled. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to school,” I replied.
“What made you change your mind, Son?”
“That little boy might get my ball and cookies but he’s not getting my Kermit the Frog lunchbox.”
She chuckled. “Before we go, brush your teeth and get dressed. Daddy’s out of the bathroom now.”
I ran to my room, got dressed and quickly hurried to the bathroom. My father walked inside as I finished brushing my teeth. He leaned against the door’s frame and smiled, as though he recognized this significant stage of my life.
“Today’s a big day for you,” my father said.
“I’m going to school to get the stuff some other little boy won’t get.”
He walked over to me, chuckled and knelt to my level. “I hope that’s not all you’ll get at school.”
My eyes widened with excitement. “There’s more?”
“Sure there is, Son. You’ll learn to read, write and count to ten.”
The possibilities seemed endless, as my mind reeled with several questions. “Daddy, why do I need to read?”
“So you can read me bedtime stories, like I do you.”
The gleam from the morning sunlight filled the room. My eyes were blinded by the bright, pink glare. I shielded my eyes from its intensity with my hands, as another seemingly mundane question emerged.
“Can I ask you a question, daddy?”
“You sure can.”
My eyes flinched as I glanced at the pink hues of the morning sun. “Why’s the sun pink in the morning?”
My father’s eyes danced, as though he was looki
ng for the most creative, fun answer. “It’s because of the candy makers and Mother Nature,” he replied.
“What do the candy makers and Mother Nature have to do with the pink sun?”
My father carefully stretched his arms upward. “Mother Nature paints the sun pink, and the candy makers climb all the way up to the sun with a giant hammer. They chop off a million tiny pieces of the pink sun and make hot cinnamon candy.”
I smiled, as I did after every far-fetched story he told. Everything about my father seemed perfect. He was my Superman and the center of my little world.
He lifted me into his strong arms and hugged me tightly, as though being my father was his reason for living. “I love you, my six-year-old man,” he said.
My tiny arms wrapped around his neck. “I love you, too, daddy.”
