In which "Sally Ann" becomes Prudy ...
She
heard the commotion of a knock at the door almost immediately following Mother's
death. Black friends, the Bailor's, were there to call on Mother. They had just
learned of her illness and the Grandmother had come prepared to stay and help
if needed. The Grandmother had acted as midwife during the birth of some of the
children and the family had exchanged home visits many times. The timing
of their visit was fortunate because their presence brought a feeling of
orderliness and comfort to the distraught family. Here were friends who could
help make decisions and give loving affection to the children and take them
into their own home while arrangements necessary and beyond their understanding
could be made.
What a flurry of activity then took
place. The doors to Mom's room were again shut and the younger lady waited with
us in the kitchen while the men moved Mom from the chair by the table to the
couch. I thought at the time that they must not do that to her because she hurt
so much and had such a difficult time breathing when lying down. But, common
sense told me that you don't need to breathe when you are dead.
And so it was decided the girls would go
with the black family that night. Dad sent word with them to call the
"undertaker" from the nearest neighbors and to send for the snow
plow. When they arrived at the neighbors, the Johnson's, it was decided
to leave Eleanor and Sally there for the night. Mrs. Johnson insisted and the
girls were promised they could return home as early in the morning as they
wished. The three little sisters continued on to the home of the Baylor's, the
black family. Eleanor and Sally wished they could have gone to the Baylor's
too, because they knew there were children of the same ages there whom they had
played with the previous summer. The Johnsons had no children and the girls
could not understand their desire to keep them so unexpectedly. But, the girls
were pleased. They had received much attention that evening -all the children
had.
When
they were tucked snugly into a big bed with the pretty coverlet, in the best guest
room of the Johnson's nice house, they talked over everything that had happened
that night. They intended to stay awake all night and kept the lamp lit, but
when they awoke the next morning, they realized they had slept after all. Voices
downstairs and breakfast smells got them out of bed immediately. They wanted to
return home, but were persuaded to eat a good breakfast first. Before the meal
was finished, their oldest brother, Frank, who had boarded where he worked,
came and thanked the neighbors and took them home. He said Baylor'S would be
bringing the other girls home, too.
Once back at the house, Sally was dismayed. For some reason she
half expected to find her mother there. The living room was back in order, window
shades raised, steam kettles put away. I went from room to room and looked
in-half expecting, not wanting to
believe that Mom really was
not there. And she wasn't there. What had become of her? When an animal dies --a
bird or cat or woodchuck, it lies there -you can see it. Later you can even see
it in the decaying process. I had never heard of a person decaying at home, but
they always died at home. Our neighbor two years earlier had died at home. Her
children knew it and told of it at school. She had been sick for two years -a
lot sicker than Mom and a lot longer, too. What happened to a person after they
died? How do they get to Heaven if they can't move? Did the
"undertaker" take her to his place? Why? I had to ask someone. What
was it going to be like now? Mom was not here. She was "dead". Dead
things didn't move by themselves. Something must happen to them because they
aren't around. I concluded the undertaker had taken her.
Someone, or perhaps several people,
contributed information in the next few days about the process of dying and funerals.
My two brothers, and the neighbor children who had lost their mother, explained
that the "undertaker" gets the dead person and dresses her up in her
best dress and puts her in a "casket" for a "funeral" after
which the person is then "buried." Well, I had seen a dog buried once
and dogs had buried bones and we had played at burying treasure and digging up
buried treasure, so burying wasn't a worry. What I wondered about was whether
the person felt anything or not. I guessed not and wondered about the
"funeral" which Dad said we all would go to. I was told I could see
Mom at the "funeral" and she would be pretty in her best dress and
she would look like she was asleep. I was also told that if I was going to cry
that I wouldn't be allowed to go. Of course, I wanted to
see Mom again even if she
was dead and that I certainly would not cry.
I
didn't know that a "funeral" meant going into a room full of people,
and being seated right up front of everyone. We could look at the casket and
at Mom lying there all the while the minister spoke. And I wasn't allowed to
cry, but my brothers were, and my sisters were, and my grandmother and
relatives were crying. I thought a funeral must be a real special occasion
because we only saw those relatives once a year. But I kept my promise and
looked at Mom in her pretty dress all the while the "funeral" was
going on. While I sat there, I realized she was really a dead person, because
she had never looked like that before. It was comforting to know that she hadn't "gone to Heaven"
before the funeral and that I had a chance to see her again after that night
when I had "kissed her for the last time."
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