Cathead Crazy

by Rhett DeVane

  One by one, Mae’s three children nodded.

  “We’ll do everything within our power to help your mother. Often, with patients of her age, one event can lead to what we refer to as a cascading effect. Under the intense strain after severe injury, systems may start to shut down. When this happens, you, as her children, face some hard decisions. Would she want to be on dialysis if her kidneys cease to function, for example?”

  “Ma-Mae, my mother, was very adamant about that sort of thing,” Hannah said, glancing at her sister and brother. “She didn’t want to be kept alive with all kinds of wires and hoses running from her. She told me just a few days ago. Used those exact words.”

  The doctor nodded. “The advanced directive covers a checklist of all types of scenarios. But I still like to talk to the family up front. This can be a very confusing time. A difficult time.” He stood to leave. “We have an excellent counseling staff. We’re all here to help you through this.”

  After the emergency room physician left, Hal voiced the thought common to all. “Sounds like we have a long road ahead.”

  Hannah closed her eyes and muttered the one word her mother found most common and low, never to be included in a perfect daughter’s speech: What her kids referred to as the “F-Bomb.”

  Word of the family’s crisis spread quickly in Chattahoochee. Friends and neighbors stepped in to share the burden. As soon as Elvina Houston caught wind of Mae’s hospitalization, she fried the phone lines at home and the Triple C. With help from the Internet, Elvina added the extra punch of international entreaties to the heavens.

  Missy and Brittany Rodgers immediately took the reins at the Olsen house, bringing in armloads of groceries and supplies, cooking meals, and cleaning the house from one end to the other. On the few occasions Hannah dashed home for fresh clothing, she found the furniture dust-free, the carpets vacuumed, the animals spoiled rotten and the bathrooms glistening, with a faint aura of bleach.

  In the Tallahassee General Neurological Intensive Care Waiting Area, a soft touch brushed Hannah’s arm. She opened her eyes slowly to find Becky, Suzanne, and Missy hovering over her.

  “Hey you,” her sister-in-law said.

  Hannah sat up and stretched, feeling the dull ache of too little sleep over the past two days. “Hey.” She rubbed her eyes and blinked to focus. “What’s going on? I must’ve fallen asleep for a moment.”

  “How, I don’t know.” Becky motioned to the line of vinyl padded chairs serving as a make-shift cot.

  “Doesn’t look very comfortable,” Missy said. “You don’t even have a pillow, you poor thing.”

  Hannah massaged her shoulder and winced. “I must’ve been using my arm, judging from the way it feels.”

  Becky sat down beside her. “We’re here to take over for a bit.” She handed Hannah a set of keys. “You know where I live, five minutes from here, down Centerville. There’re clean sheets on the bed and anything you need in the guest bath.”

  “I don’t want to leave Ma-Mae. Norman’s coming over with the kids—”

  Suzanne sat on the other side of Hannah. “Hon, we’re here. Hal’s parking the van, and Helen’ll be over later this afternoon. Don’t you think we’ll be watching over Mae?”

  “Well . . . ”

  “You need some rest, Hannah.” Missy knelt in front of her. “And I’m not talking about a half hour slumped over in a chair.”

  “That’s right,” Suzanne agreed. “When they move her into a room, given that it’s a private one, we can have a cot brought in. Even then, we can take shifts staying with her. In the meantime, you’re going to get sick if you don’t sleep.”

  Hannah raked her fingers through her limp hair. “I could use a shower.”

  Suzanne winked at Becky and Missy. “We weren’t going to mention it, hon. But now that you bring it up, you’re starting to look a bit like a street person.”

  “You will call me if anything happens?” Hannah grabbed her purse and a small duffel bag that held a few toiletries.

  “Of course.” Suzanne helped Hannah to stand and steered her gently toward the door. “Now go!”

  Following a long, hot shower, Hannah eased between the cool sheets. The room was mercifully dark, cold and quiet. For a few moments, she reviewed the events of the past forty-eight hours, the anxiety, the fear. Then she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Until the trill of her cell phone jarred her awake.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Hannah recalled scattered, random details of the day her mother died.

  The world turned gray and her eyes—tired and burning—couldn’t hold a sharp focus through the haze of tears. Small things caught her attention. The way the peppering rain sent domes of bubbles dancing in the puddles next to the intersection in front of the hospital as Norman turned into the gush of five o’clock traffic. How the worry lines around Mae’s eyes and lips disappeared after her spirit lifted away. The sound of that one final breath. The warmth of Norman’s arms cocooned around her. The feather-light touch of her daughter’s hand in hers, and Jonas’s dark eyelashes beaded with tears. How the family pulled together as if by some unseen magnetic force: never far from touching, reaching for words of comfort.

  “She looked better yesterday,” Hal said for the fourth or fifth time. “I figured she was turning the corner. She seemed like she might be . . .”

  Suzanne caressed his face in a gesture so caring, Hannah had to look away to staunch another round of shuddering cries.

  “It happens that way, sometimes,” Suzanne said in a soft voice. “God’s little gift. A tiny piece of grace when things look a little brighter.”

  Hal’s hands—usually busy, moving—were folded, still, in his lap.

  Hannah didn’t correct her brother. Had she survived, Mae would have been paralyzed on one side. The cruel reality of impending surgery, the loss of independence, the necessity for a nursing home rather than the freedom and camaraderie of Rosemont: All had loomed in Mae’s future.

  “It was her kidneys,” Hal said. “She always had trouble with them.”

  Suzanne wrapped her arms around him from behind. “I know, baby. You all did everything you could. The doctors did too. Sometimes, a person’s body can’t go on anymore.”

  Hal’s head bowed forward. Hannah knew without looking; her brother was crying again.

  Helen had been led away soon after Mae’s death, too overcome to remain in the room. Charlie cuddled her like a small child and nodded to Hal and Hannah. Later, she would participate in the planning, the ceremony, and the expected social graces. But for now, Helen would retreat with her boys and her husband to gather strength.

  “Sweetheart, we need to go on home now,” Norman said to his wife. “There are calls to make.”

  Hannah’s logical mind refused to work. “What about Ma-Mae?”

  “I’ve contacted Joseph Burns. He’s on his way over to get her.” Norman chose his words carefully. “He’s a very good man, Hannah. He will take tender care of Mae. She picked him, herself, remember?”

  “Can we stay, Norman? Can we stay until he gets here?”

  “Of course. I’ll send the kids on home with Hal and Suzanne. You and I will sit with Mae, if that’s what you wish.”

  Her eyes met his. “It is. It really is. She wouldn’t leave me all alone.”

  Elvina Houston slipped quietly from the Olsens’ back door and ambled across the deck. “Morning, Glory.” She offered a small smile. “Your daughter told me I’d find you out here. Mind if I sit a spell?”

  Hannah gave a slight nod and the thin old woman with the beehive hairdo eased down onto a padded deck chair.

  “There’s a little something in the air this morning, don’t you think? Oh, I know the heat will build later on and the thunderstorms will come, but . . . ” Elvina lifted her chin like an animal testing the wind for scent. “I can feel a touch of fall in the air.”

  “Won’t be too soon for me.” Hannah wondered if her voice sounded as flat to others a
s it did to her.

  “I reckon even folks who like the heat have had enough this summer. Been a rough one.” Elvina folded her hands in her lap. “I brought over some of Joe Fletcher’s fresh-baked sweet potato biscuits. He usually doesn’t make them until Saturday, but he stirred up a batch special for y’all this morning. He threw in a few cathead biscuits too, for those who’d rather have those.”

  “Thank you, Elvina. I’m sure that’ll make the kids especially happy.”

  Elvina tilted her head and studied Hannah. “How about you? You been able to eat anything, gal?”

  Hannah cradled her coffee mug as if it held secret comfort. “Everything seems to make me nauseated. This is breakfast.”

  “Grief can rob you of an appetite. That’s for sure.” Elvina said. “I’m bringing over a big pot of chicken ’n’ dumplings later. Piddie Longman’s recipe. Do you remember her?”

  “Who didn’t know Piddie?” Hannah fondly recalled the beehive-haired jolly senior. “You two were good friends.”

  “Surely were. The best. For over forty years, wasn’t a day that passed I didn’t talk to her at least once.”

  “I know that’s the one thing that will hit me hard, after all of this . . . ” Hannah circled the air with one hand. “I’m so accustomed to talking to Ma-Mae about everything. We spoke on the phone every day, and I stopped by Rosemont several times a week on my way home from work. Not to mention all the time we spent doing girlie stuff.” Her throat constricted with emotion. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye. To tell her how much I love her. I kept praying she would open her eyes, just once more.”

  “Oh, sugar. She knew. Every time you took her out, every time you made sure she had what she needed, you told her. That’s worth more than words.” Elvina patted Hannah on the arm with one liver-spotted hand. “I’ll share with you what my counselor told me after Piddie died.” The old woman settled back into her chair. “I was lower than a snake’s belly after Piddie passed. I suffer from depression, anyway. Have for years, on and off. Piddie leaving near ’bout killed me. I had all these folks around, but still felt so alone. My counselor suggested I keep on talking to Piddie.” She smiled. “Thought they’d lock me up in the ’hooch uptown for certain if I tried it, but it surely helped.

  “Every morning, first thing, I go out to this little cement sitting bench beside the Piddie Davis Longman Memorial Garden. That’s where Piddie’s ashes were scattered behind the Triple C. It’s a daisy patch: a pretty, peaceful spot. Piddie told us exactly how she wanted it done. Anyway, I sit there and have a one-sided conversation with her. Tell her all about my aches and pains, the goings-on in town, or whatever comes to mind. Somehow, doing that eases my wounded soul a little. I like to think of my friend floating down to sit beside me on that bench.” She winked. “Taking time out from her heavenly duties, and all.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “Everyone finds a way to grieve. Reckon that’s mine.”

  The two women shared the silence for a moment before Elvina spoke again. “I dropped by the Dragonfly Florist. Jake’s busy on Mae’s floral drape. You did a good job of picking out the colors. He’s doing it up right. He has a pile of arrangement orders a mile high too. There’ll be a passel of blooms at the ceremony.”

  Hannah nodded. “Helen and I met with Jake. He gets all the credit for everything. He asked a few questions, then said he would take care of it.”

  “That’s Jake Witherspoon for you. Finer man you won’t meet.” Elvina paused. “I’ve set up the church ladies in shifts to help with feeding your family and any friends coming in. Don’t feel like you have to lift a finger.”

  “I never understood before, how much it helps to have all of you taking care of things. My energy level is . . . ” Hannah’s shoulders rose and fell. “Kaput.”

  “Let the mundane household stuff be the least of your worries, gal. Leave that to us. And if there is anything you think of you need help with, all you have to do is say so.”

  Hannah offered a weak smile. “Thank you, Elvina. Really.”

  “Something else I need to talk over with you, then I’ll leave you to your thoughts. I know y’all cleaned out your Mama’s little house awhile back. I’m sure you’re grateful for that, at this point. But her room at Rosemont?”

  Hannah blew out a long breath. “I suppose next week we’ll have to deal with it.”

  “I have a suggestion,” Elvina said. “You and your siblings can ponder on it and let me know later. Lucille Jackson—that’s the wife of Reverend Thurston Jackson of the Morningside AME church—reminded me of something. They run an outreach program for displaced families: domestic violence victims, folks that have lost everything in house fires, what-all. I can have them show up on the day y’all meet up to clean out the room, with boxes to take away anything your family might not want or need.”

  “I’ll talk it over with Hal and Helen, but it sounds okay to me, Elvina. I’d rather her things go to good use.”

  “Mandy wanted me to tell you not to fret about your mama’s hair. She knows exactly how Mae liked it styled. Rest assured, she’ll get it right. Stephanie said she’d fit you into her schedule—Norman too, for that matter—if you feel a little massage would help your feelings. If she can’t for some reason, I can talk to Hattie Davis. She still does a few, part-time.”

  Hannah answered with a slight tilt of her head. Breathing took such effort. Too many words jostled for attention.

  Elvina hesitated before speaking. “I didn’t spend as much time around your mama as I would’ve liked. The times I stopped by Rosemont to call on someone else, Mae was so helpful and positive. And always, we would pass the time when she came into the salon. Funny thing: I did have a nice chat with her not long ago.”

  “Oh?”

  “I stopped by to leave a bottle of this special face cream Stephanie had ordered for Maxine. She and your mama were sitting on the porch out front. We got to talking about old age and its trials and tribulations. It’s a common subject with us seniors. Your mama said there were only two things she was afraid of about the whole thing. You know what they were?”

  Hannah moved her head from side to side.

  “Mae was afraid of dying alone, and of living so long she became a burden. She didn’t want to linger and linger, and get more and more sick and dependent.” Elvina smiled. “Y’all were all around her when she passed, from what I understand. How lucky to have all the ones you love by your bedside. And she didn’t go through a long period of grave illness before the good Lord took her Home. Reckon Mae never realized her two worst fears.”

  “Ma-Mae talked to me a lot about things—funeral plans, what to bury her in— but she never said anything about being afraid.”

  “Every one of us has a little bit of fear, Hannah. Only natural, no matter how strong our faith. Perhaps we don’t so much worry about when it’s going to happen, but how.”

  Elvina slapped her lap and stood. “I have to get a move on. Feel free to phone me at the Triple C or at home if you need me. I left both numbers on the side of your refrigerator.” She bumped her forehead with the palm of one hand. “Lawsy! I almost forgot. I put clean sheets on my guest room bed. It’s just me and Buster—my old Tomcat—at my house. I heard Norman say his brother Nathan and his wife are coming up from Tampa. They can have their own bathroom, on account of I have two. No need in anyone staying in no motel.”

  “Thank you, Elvina, for everything. I don’t know how we can ever repay your kindness.”

  “No debt between friends. One day someone will be doing this all for me. I’d like to think I’ll live forever, but reckon I’ll move on one day.” She pointed a finger heavenward. “Hopefully up!”

  Chapter Forty-five

  “You feel like having a little breakfast, hon?” Norman asked.

  The morning of Mae’s graveside service had dawned gray and overcast. Hannah awakened with a slight headache and swollen eyes.

  “Just coffee, please.” Her hand moved instin
ctively to cradle the roundness of her belly. Something nudged at the edge of her awareness, but slipped away as Norman bent down and kissed Hannah lightly on the forehead. “Stay in bed. I’ll bring you a cup. And a piece of toast. You need something in your stomach.”

  Since the service was scheduled for eleven o’clock, family members agreed to meet at the Olsens’ house to form a procession to New Hope Cemetery seven miles west of Chattahoochee. Hannah was applying a second layer of makeup over the deep blue circles beneath her eyes when Hal tapped on the bedroom door and entered.

  “Hey, Pookie.” He planted a kiss on her cheek. “How’re you doing?” His voice shook with emotion.

  “About as good as you, from the sound of it.”

  Hal sat on the edge of the bed. “Seems unreal.”

  She swiveled around to face her brother. “I’ve tried to prepare myself for this day—knew it would come. But now that it’s here . . .”

  Hal nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Have Helen and Charlie gotten here yet?”

  “Nope. But they will be soon. I’m sure Charlie’s keeping everyone on task.”

  Hannah scanned her lipstick shades, decided on a muted peach. “Helen’s a mess. I think she’s taking it the hardest of all.”

  “You expected any less?” Hal said. “She falls apart when a butterfly hits the grill of her car.”

  Hannah smiled weakly. “She is sensitive.”

  “That’s our sister.”

  She leaned forward and applied a thin sheen of lipstick, blotted. “I’m numb. Empty.” Her gaze lifted to her brother’s reflection in her vanity mirror.

  Hal’s eyes watered. He straightened his tie. “Know what you mean.”

  “Did anyone talk to the Rosemont folks?”

  Hal ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Elvina Houston called Suzanne yesterday. Told her they’re bringing a small group of Ma-Mae’s closest friends on the Rosemont bus.”