* * *
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Morning was dawning as we drove up the driveway. Papa’s truck was parked in front of the barn. As expected, Papa and Big Ma were up. They said Mama was holding her own. They had spent all day Saturday at the hospital in Jackson, but already this morning, the chores were done and Big Ma had breakfast waiting for us. As tired as we were, we enjoyed the smoked ham, the grits and biscuits and eggs, as well as molasses, everything washed down with the cows’ morning milk. While we ate, Papa and Big Ma told us just what happened the night Mama had the stroke. It had only happened Friday evening and now it was Sunday morning, but time seemed to be passing so fast that Friday seemed long ago. As soon as we finished eating, Papa got up from the table. “You all get some sleep,” he said. “I’m going to wash up and go on into Jackson. Y’all come later. Hospital got strict hours. Can’t see your mama ’til visiting time anyway.”
“When you go, Papa,” Stacey said, “we’re all going with you.” He didn’t ask Christopher-John, Man, and me how we felt about that; he already knew. We all wanted to be with Papa, and we all wanted to see Mama, no matter how tired we were.
Papa shrugged. “Up to you.”
* * *
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Jackson was the capital of Mississippi. It was the heart of the state. Like every facility in Jackson, like every facility in Mississippi run by the government, run by white folks, the hospital was segregated. All medical personnel were white. We entered through a separate entrance, sat in a separate waiting room, and when we were finally allowed to see Mama, we entered a separate area for colored patients. Only two visitors at a time were allowed to see a patient. Papa went up first alone. When he returned, he told us, “I talked to your mama and I think she understood what I said. She didn’t open her eyes, but when I told her all of you are here, I could see her eyelids try to move. She hasn’t said a word, but I know she heard me.”
Stacey and I went up next. Mama was hospitalized in a big room, a ward, with several other patients. When we entered the ward, we were directed to the far end of the room, next to the windows, and I was glad Mama was near the light, near where she could feel the sunshine.
Mama was asleep. She looked peaceful, but so pale, so frail. Both Stacey and I called to her, but she did not respond. We leaned past the tubes connected to her, kissed her cheek, squeezed her hand, then sat side by side, waiting for her to waken. During the time we sat there, Stacey reached out for my hand and then we softly prayed to give Mama strength, to bring her back to herself, to the Mama we knew, and to give all of us strength to help her.
We sat there for more than half an hour, but then, knowing how worried Christopher-John and Clayton Chester were waiting downstairs, we left so that they could come up. We went back and forth that way for as long as the hospital allowed us to stay. Right before we left the hospital, Mama opened her eyes. She didn’t say anything, but she opened her eyes and she smiled.
That was enough.
* * *
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There was no staying at the hospital beyond the Sunday visiting hours, so we headed home in the late afternoon. Besides, there were chores to be done and we didn’t want Big Ma tending to the animals alone. But when we got home we found Little Willie Wiggins already there and the chores done. Little Willie had seen to them. “’Ey, you scounds!” he hollered, coming from the barn as we drove up. He put the feeding bucket he was carrying on the ground and hurried toward us. Stacey was out of the car first, and the two old friends greeted each other with a warm hug. Christopher-John, Man, and I followed with hugs of our own.
“Things must be mighty good for y’all up north!” praised Little Willie in his good-natured way. “See you done got yourself a new car, Stacey. She’s a beauty!” Little Willie stepped back a moment, admiring the Mercury, then turned serious. “How’s Miz Logan?”
“Holding her own,” Stacey said.
Then Papa smiled, as if letting Little Willie in on a secret. “Eyes opened today . . . and she smiled.”
“You don’t say! Ain’t that something!” exclaimed Little Willie.
Inside, Big Ma had supper waiting. After hearing our good news about Mama’s progress, Big Ma let out a “Praise the Lord!” then told us about all the folks who had stopped by asking about Mama. “Pastor was here. Stayed more’n two hours with me. We had us a houseful and a houseful of prayer. That’s what’s goin’ to see us through. Prayer. Prayer and faith in the Lord.” Then Big Ma turned to Little Willie. “Now, you joinin’ us for supper, Willie.” She said that more as a command than an invitation.
“Yes, ma’am, sure am,” agreed Little Willie. “I done told Dora when I left home not to be holdin’ supper on me. Figured to be here, and all of us had a lotta catching up to do.”
Big Ma nodded with approval. “Good you told her that. Dora’s a fine, understanding girl.”
“She had to be to marry Little Willie here,” teased Stacey.
“Can’t argue with you there!” laughed Little Willie. Dora, Little Willie, the boys, and I had all grown up together, and Little Willie had married Dora as soon as he was drafted into service.
“Well, y’all wash on up now,” ordered Big Ma, turning back to her kitchen. “Supper’s ready for the table.”
“I’ll help you, Big Ma,” I volunteered.
“Just wash on up, girl,” Big Ma said. “You can help me with these here dishes after. Right now, though, don’t need no help puttin’ this food on the table. Go on with the boys now.” I did as I was told. No matter how old I got, or how old Big Ma got, there could be no arguing with my grandmother.
By the time the boys and I had washed with well water stored in buckets hanging from hooks on the back porch and gone back inside, kerosene lamps were lit and set on the table. The dining area was small in comparison to the Dorr Street house. The table filled most of the space. On one side of the room were two pantry cabinets. There the dishes and any desserts were kept. Next to the pantries, a door led into the boys’ room. At each end of the dining room was an opening, one with the door leading into Mama and Papa’s room, the center of the house that served as our family gathering place, while the other opening had no door and led into the tiny kitchen dominated by the wood-burning stove.
On the other side of the table, windows lined the wall. Beyond the windows were the back porch and the backyard, where the chickens and rooster, the peacocks and guinea hens roamed freely during the day, and beyond the yard, the garden, and beyond the garden, the orchard filled with fruit trees planted by Big Ma and Grandpa Paul-Edward long ago. The smokehouse and the outhouse were out there too. At each end of the table was a chair. Papa sat at one end, Big Ma at the other with ready access to her kitchen. Chairs also lined the table along the pantry side, allowing just enough walking space for a body to pass between the cabinets and the table. On the window side of the table there was a backless bench. That was where the boys and I sat for meals growing up. The room was small but the table had always been full, laden with Big Ma’s good cooking. Once we were all seated, we held hands and praised God for His blessings, for keeping Mama in His care, for bringing us all safely home.