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Words of The Latter Rain

Volume 1, Issue 4, August 2008


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The Breath of a Child

David Nix

Saturday, 8/30/2008

 On Father’s Day my father received a phone call from his sister Adris.  She informed him that their mother, my grandmother, was dying.  She had Alzheimer’s and her kidneys were failing. The doctor’s said it would only be a matter of days, and if he wanted to see her before she died, he would need to come soon.  My father left Monday morning for Bristol, Tennessee. Prayers went up, love was felt, and prayers were answered.  Our prayers were for her to be lucid,  to one last time be able to recognize her three children, and Praise God He answered that prayer! 

Then her gaze dimmed and shifted.  As she lay there, I know my granny saw her angel.  The one who had been with her from conception, and would be there until she closed her eyes for the final time, was holding her hand, stroking her brow, and telling her it was time to sleep, to be at peace.

 I trudged through the next few days dreading every time the phone rang.  Finally the dreaded phone call came on Thursday afternoon.  We headed for Bristol early Friday morning.  As we raced through the next few days, there was no time to mourn as we had to hurry and get to the wake, hurry and get to the funeral, and hurry and get to the internment.  The time to mourn finally came on a Monday and along with it came the darkness.  Not the darkness of evil, but the darkness of sorrow.  Satan even works on us when we are mourning.  I could feel myself slipping deeper and deeper into the grip of sorrow.  I cried and I mourned.  I felt the loss deeply.  Never again would I hear her say “Now Bug” as she gently scolded me for something I had done.  Never again would I hear her say “Eat this last little bite, there is no sense putting it in the fridge.”  Never again would I hear her sing “Amazing Grace.” 

Wednesday came and along with it the Mid-Week Celebration of Praise.  I had talked myself out of going.  I told myself that I just wasn’t up to seeing anyone or accepting condolences yet.  However, it seemed my loving husband had other plans.  Once we arrived the soothing balm of love began to take hold.  But, the greatest balm of all was the breath of a child.  As I sat there holding little Reagan against my breast, I could feel our hearts beat in unison, I could feel her warm breath upon my neck as she slumbered, just as my grandmother had done with me.  Complete surrender, absolute trust, and love.  A life given and a life taken.  The circle continues, and I like to think that my granny’s angel looks in on Reagan from time to time, just to see the little girl who helped her little girl.  One day I will tell Reagan just how much it meant to me to hold her as she slept that night, and just how much I love her.  For now, I will watch her grow and every time she smiles I will remember my granny and the love she had for me. 

   Cheina Gardner



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