My First Valentine

My First Valentine

by JML

“ Mista Jeffery! You must come now; she be breathing quickly and I hears a rattle in her lungs” in her Creole accent.

Nurse Norma is shaking my shoulder to wake me, her words an intense whisper. This ebony islander angel of God, whom for the last month has watched over my mothers, every laborious breath, as she is about to give death its due.

“ She only be wit us for a little while longer and then she be going to meet the Lord Himself !” The joy and peace she sings this with can’t be but contagious and brings hope to all gathered in this bedroom of sorrow.

It was five months ago that Hospice took over my mother’s care, five months of us digesting the pending death sentence. Suddenly, a revelation and correlation between birth and death announcements come together in my mind and eyes as my daughter Kristy walks in, with my six-month-old granddaughter.

“Dad, please hold Kira; I feel like I am going to throw up.” Her eyes were moist and swollen, telling the story as much as her sheet white appearance.

“Sure, Kiddo, you know I was just thinking how this reminds me of your pregnancies.” My voice has become upbeat and reflective in tone. “ Think about it, we are given the news of the upcoming event, we then wait anxiously, trying to imagine how it will change our lives.”

“ Some rejoice at such news, others are in denial, Grandma rejoiced!”.

“She couldn’t wait to be with Jack and Jesus, even though she would miss us, she would not miss the physical pain or the burden she felt she had become.”

“Mom, it’s me, Sonny Boy; she told me I was the sunshine of her life, and that was her nickname for me. Kristy and Kira are here too."

“ I can’t get over how red Kira’s hair is, just like yours." My mother appears agitated as if fretting over which necklace to wear to the memorial party ... hers. "Mom, we love you and we are all here to be with you, it is okay if you leave us. "

“Mista Jeffery, she hears you, look at her eyes flicker, keep talking to her, she hears you!” Norma’s hands are held high in praise, not prayer.

“Mom, I recall how we all stood around waiting for the big moment when the grandkids were born, pacing to and fro, unsure what were supposed to do or say.”

“ The unspoken fear that the babies would have all their fingers and toes, how silly that was.” I am holding her left hand, my little sister, Lisa, my sister, is holding her right. “ How about when Lisa was confined to your couch for 3 months before Ryan was born, and wore that monitor because of complications."

“ I remember you prayed.” ‘ Please, Lord, take the baby if you must, but not my little girl. Lord, I don’t know if I am strong enough for that.’

“ I know you felt guilty about that, I believe He understands such prayers of despair, don't you agree, after all, He sacrificed His son?"

Lisa has found her voice.“ Mom, Ryan is here, 20 years old and big and strong and loves you very much. Glenn Jr. got the promotion at work and is on his way to see you."

In the background, I've been listening to the CD player, which has been playing her favorite songs over and over again for the last three days. “ The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Music.” Mom saw that movie at Plantation Theater at least six times (the only movie I remember her ever going to see in an indoor theater). “Amazing Grace” and currently playing “When we all get to Heaven, what a day of rejoicing that will be.” A hand-clapping, old-time gospel hymn.

“ We are not afraid, Mom, go and dance with Jack, it's been eight years since he passed, and your anniversary is in a couple of weeks, I am certain he misses you as much as you've missed him.”

Much like six months ago, when we all smiled as Kira took her first breaths and said hello to us for the first time, I was holding my first Valentine’s hand as she took her last and said goodbye.

Nina June Jamieson April 25, 1924- September 29th, 2011