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**************
Beautiful, She Said

I never thought that I understood her. She always
seemed so far away from me. I loved her, of course.
We shared mutual love from the day I was born. I
came into this world with a bashed head and deformed
features because of the hard labor my mother had gone
through. Family members and friends wrinkled their
noses at the disfigured baby I was. They all commented
on how much I looked like a beat-up football player. But
no, not her. Nana thought I was beautiful. Her eyes
twinkled with splendor and happiness at the ugly baby in
her arms. Her first granddaughter. Beautiful, she said.

Before final exams in my junior year of high school, she
died. Seven years ago, her doctors diagnosed Nana with
Alzheimer's disease. Seven years ago, our family became
experts on this disease as, slowly, we lost her.

She always spoke in fragmented sentences. As the years
passed, the words she spoke became fewer and fewer,
until finally she said nothing at all. We were lucky to get
one occasional word out of her. It was then our family knew
she was near the end.

About a week or so before she died, she lost the abilities
for her body to function at all, and the doctors decided to
move her to a hospice. A hospice. Where those who entered
would never come out.

I told my parents I wanted to see her. I had to see her. My
uncontrollable curiosity had taken a step above my
gut-wrenching fear.

My mother took me to the hospice two days after my
request. My grandfather and two of my aunts were there
as well, but all hung back in the hallway as I entered
Nana's room. She was sitting in a big, fluffy chair next to
her bed, slouched over, eyes shut, mouth numbly hanging
open. The morphine was keeping her asleep. My eyes
darted around the room at the windows, the flowers, and
the way Nana looked. I was struggling very hard to take it
all in, knowing that this would be the last time I ever saw
her alive.

I slowly sat down across from her. I took her left hand and
held it in mine, brushing a stray lock of golden hair away from
her face. I just sat and stared, motionless, in front of her,
unable to feel anything. I opened my mouth to speak but
nothing came out. I could not get over how awful she looked
sitting there, helpless.

Then it happened. Her little hand wrapped around mine tighter
and tighter. Her voice began what sounded like a soft howl.
She seemed to be crying in pain. And then, she spoke.

"Jessica," Plain as day. My name. Mine. Out of four children,
two sons-in-law, one daughter-in-law, and six grandchildren,
she knew it was me.

At that moment, it was like someone was showing a family
filmstrip in my head. I saw Nana at my baptizing. I saw her
at my fourteen dance recitals. I saw her bringing me roses
and beaming with pride. I saw her tap dancing on our kitchen
floor. I saw her pointing at her own wrinkled cheeks and
telling me that it was from her that I inherited my big dimples.
I saw her playing games with us grandkids while the other
adults ate Thanksgiving dinner. I saw her sitting with me in my
living room at Christmas time admiring our brightly decorated
tree.

I then looked at her as she was...and I cried.

I knew she would never see my final senior dance recital. I
knew she would never see me cheer for another football game.
I knew she would never sit with me and admire our Christmas
tree again. I knew she would never see me go off to my senior
prom. I knew she would never see me graduate high school or
college or see me get married. And I knew she would never
be there the day my first child was born. This made tear after
tear roll down my face.

But above all, I cried because I finally knew how she had felt
the day I had been born. She had looked through what she
saw on the outside and looked to the inside and saw ...a life.

I slowly released her hand from mine and brushed away the
tears staining her cheeks, and mine. I stood, leaned over,
and kissed her.

"You look beautiful."

And with one long last look, I turned and left the hospice.

Starfire7s@aol.com
Smile......Jesus love you!

Starfire7s@aol.com


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