Twenty Eight
As I said, 1998 was not a good year for me. My childhood friends were dropping like flies. I never expected to outlive as many people as I did, but if it's any indication how many funerals I attended, I bought four new dresses that year and all of them black. I've never been terribly vain, but I still held to a few social standards, even in my old age. I didn't want to be seen in the same black dress every time I turned around.
Poopsie died on a fishing trip out west. God love him, he went out with a bang, doing what he loved most. They had a time getting his body shipped home for burial, but Clara Jean handled all the details and got it straightened out. She was devastated, of course, and I'm not sure she's over it to this day.
The hardest thing for me, the worst day of my life, came in late November of that year. We had a lovely Thanksgiving dinner. Patrice and the twins cooked the entire meal in my kitchen and the house was brimming with food, friends, family and a whole lot of love. We all ate too much, but Blanche complained the most about it. She said she just felt full all over. Danita and Curtis drove her home afterwards, taking Shawn and Rochelle back to their own house to play with their cousins.
When Blanche didn't show up the next morning, I knew it was not good. I forced myself not to panic as I called a taxi to take me to her house. I decided not to call the children first. I didn't want to worry them in case I was wrong. On the other hand, if I was right...well, if I was right, I would be the one who found her.
She didn’t answer the door when I rang the bell, but I knew she never kept it locked. She always left it open, just in case Grace came home. I opened the door and entered the house, which had not changed much in the years since I came to take Patrice shopping. I could hear Blanche's snoring in the back bedroom and I breathed a sigh of relief. I figured she must have overslept, though she'd never done it before. I laughed at myself for overreacting and headed for her bedroom, scolding the whole way.
“Blanche, you old fool, you scared me to death!" I spoke loudly so I wouldn't startle her when I entered her room. “Blanche!" I repeated as I cleared the doorway. She was lying flat on her back, the covers kicked to the side and one arm hanging limply off the bed.
She didn't respond at all. She just laid there, air moving noisily in and out of her chest. I picked up her arm and shook it a little.
“Blanche, wake up," I said, shaking harder when she did not move. I think that‘s when I knew she was gone from me. I picked up the phone on her bedside table and dialed Patrice's number. I explained where I was and she said she would call the ambulance and be right over.
I didn't know what to do, so I did the first thing that came to mind. I went to the kitchen and put on a pot of water for tea. It seems ridiculous now, but that's what I did.
When I went back to Blanche's room, I carefully placed her hands on her stomach and pulled the blankets up to her chest. Then I crawled into the bed beside her, resting my head on her shoulder and one hand over both of hers. I watched my hand rise and fall with each breath, the sound rumbling in my ear.
I didn't move again until the ambulance arrived. I never heard the sirens. All I remember hearing was the sound of the teakettle screaming on the stove.
Patrice came in right behind them and we comforted each other as the paramedics tended to Blanche and hustled her into the ambulance. Patrice drove us to the hospital, calling her sisters from the cell phone in her car.
Blanche lived another two weeks, though she never regained consciousness. In hindsight, I wish I'd never called a soul. I'd rather have just stayed right there until it was over, than to see my dear friend lying in a cold, sterile hospital room like that.
I've made up a new lie and I tell it to myself every day. Blanche died in her sleep, there in the house where she raised her children, amongst all her memories and all the things she loved. Marcus was there, and Grace, too. Grace, full of life and hope and promise. We were all there, me, Eddie, the twins - the whole family, there to tell Blanche goodbye and send her off to be with her husband again.
I've never been afraid of dying. I don't know what will happen when I do, but I have to believe I'll be with Walter again. I have to believe that I'll have another chance to tell him everything I did not know when he was on the earth and in my living room.