Know what? I'm feeling a little sad today. See, it was this time three years ago that I was in Macon in my mother's home when my middle brother Willis was dying of cancer. I don't know if you've ever been in a house with someone dying, and I guess it's always different, but I reckon (as my grandmother would say) you never forget it. It sort of hides in a closet and reappears annually like an unannounced guest. You start remembering sounds, like breathing, sounds you don't usually think about.
I remember the night Willis' breathing was extra labored all of a sudden, the caregiver was asleep, and I didn't know whether to wake her. When I did, she said that that's how her last cancer patient started breathing right before she died. She said it wouldn't be long now, and they'd better start him on morphine tomorrow. Then she went back to sleep.
But I did something I'd never done before to a grown man who weighed over 200 pounds. I got a fresh wash rag, wet it with cool water, began to mop his brow, and spoke to him like a mother would speak to her little child, or like a sister would speak to her dying brother.
Willis, do you hear me? You're not sleeping very well. I hate to say it, but I don't think it will be very long now. You've led a good life, and you've taken really good care of Mama and Daddy. They couldn't have stayed in the Big House without you.
I never said it a whole lot, but I love you.
And I'll miss you.
And then I thought to myself, "I don't know what will happen to Mama. I hope she doesn't have to go to one of those "homes." But I know God will take good care of her, and maybe she can come live with me."
Bye for now.
