The Thirty First Call From The Hospital

Nobody said a word about it. That is the thing about the people I come from. They saw it. Every one of them saw it. And they stepped back and made a path for him, as polite as you please.

He came up the aisle and tried to put his arms around me.

I let him. I stood in it like a fence post.

“I’m sorry,” he said in my ear. “I’m so sorry. The flights were a mess.”

“Go see your mother,” I said.

He stood at the casket a long while. His shoulders were shaking. I believe he loved her. I have never said he didn’t. I think he loved her the way he loved me, which is to say sincerely, and whenever it was handy.

When he turned around, Pastor Dan was standing there.

“Keith.” He took Keith’s hand in both of his. He did not lower his voice, and he did not raise it. He just used the one God gave him, which carries. “I’m sorry for your loss, son. I want you to know I was with your mother at the end. She woke up once. She was clear as a bell.”

Keith wiped his face. “She was? What did she say?”

“She asked for you.”

It hit him like a fence gate in the chest. I watched it.

“She asked where her boy was. And Tracey told her you were traveling.”

Keith looked at me. I looked back.

“And your mother said she knew exactly what kind of traveling,” Pastor Dan went on, mild as milk. “She said she raised you and she was married to your daddy thirty-eight years. I don’t claim to know what she meant by that. I’m only telling you what she said, because she made me promise I would, word for word.”

The room had gone very still. There were sixty people in it and you could hear the furnace.

“She said to tell you plain that she asked for you and you didn’t come.”

“Pastor,” Keith said. It came out cracked.

“And then she said to tell you it was all right. That she didn’t die alone or afraid, because the best thing you ever did in your life was sitting right there holding her hand.” Pastor Dan nodded toward me. “She said she prayed thirty years for a daughter and the Lord sent Tracey. She said your wife called you thirty-one times that night. And she said Tracey doesn’t owe you one thing more. Those were about the last words she spoke, Keith. They were about your wife.”

He let go of Keith’s hand then, and patted his shoulder, the sunburned one, and Keith flinched.

“I thought that would be a comfort to you,” Pastor Dan said. “To know who was with her.”

He moved on. And the line started up again.

That was the part I will never forget, and I had nothing to do with it.

Next in line was Denise. She had come on her night off, in a navy dress, with her glasses on their beaded chain. She shook Keith’s hand.

“I was your mama’s nurse,” she said. “I heard every word. I’ve got good ears. Your wife never let go of her, not once in thirteen hours. You’re a lucky man.”

Then Mrs. Hadley from the altar guild. “Keith, sweetheart. We heard what your mother said at the end. What a blessing, that her last thoughts were of Tracey.”