Promises Kept

“Promise me you’ll see me again!” her delicate hands felt as though they were covered with tissue paper as they grasped my much younger ones.  And I felt like a young child being earnestly instructed by its parent. I deflected her request with assurances that the office would certainly contact her later, you know, to see how she was doing. She appeared unperturbed by my reticence.

“He’s with Jesus now, he’s not hurting anymore” and there was a sweet simplicity in her childlike statement.  Her husband’s passing several hours before yielded confusion interspersed with moments of vivid clarity as she struggled to hold onto each thought.

“His breathing got slower and slower, then it just stopped.” she said to the room at large.  Then the veil of confusion lowered over her milky blue eyes and she turned to me again. “Promise me you’ll come see me again, dear!” then turning back to her daughter, who patiently reminded her again who she was and of her husband's passing.  And I wondered how hard it must be to relive that kind of loss repeatedly when our own minds can no longer hold onto and process information.

I completed the requisite tasks as we waited for the funeral director to arrive.  And we talked. Sixty one years it had been.  That, she remembered with clarity.  As well as the memories of their first date, their first home, their first child, as well as the two they’d lost.  And grief was still mirrored in her face at the memory.  But she would see them again, she assured me.  And her mother’s heart beat in her voice when she said it. And she loved him, the man who lay cold and still in the bed across the room. Of that she was sure, as well.  And despite her daddy’s objections, she had married him. They had been poor, poorer than the mice that lived in the balcony of the old Baptist church they’d been married in, and her quirky grin had to be a reflection of the demurely impertinent young girl she had once been. Then her mama and daddy died. Did you know they were buried in the cemetery just down the road? But they were in Heaven, too, and she would see them again soon. And I marveled at her peaceful, albeit simple, confidence.

I finished up a few last obligatory matters as the coroner made his final preparations to leave.  Then kneeling beside her chair, I put my arms around her frail body in a gentle hug. And as I leaned back, I felt her hands on the sides of my face “promise me you’ll see me again!” And there was a clarity in her sharp eyes that belied her transient confusion. And suddenly, I understood. Her insistence for my promise suddenly made perfect sense, and my heart clenched with the understanding.  Our eyes met with mutual clarity.  “Yes,” I murmured softly, “I promise, I will see you again”.  And her contented smile remained even as her eyes clouded again in sweet confusion. 

Tears blurred my vision as I stepped out the front door into the bitter cold that morning. I may never come here to visit her again, but I will never forget her simple admonition. I will see you again, dear one. That, I promise.