When It Rains, It Pours

You would think a child of God would have the best of luck. Beginning in October of 2001, that way of thinking would be proven wrong.

My grandmother had developed gallstones, pancreatitis and hepatitis. Through the discovery of these diseases, a large intestinal tumor was found also. In August, she had surgery to correct these issues. For the next two months, Grandmother would be in and out of the hospital.

On October 23, my granddaddy requested the home health nurse to get my grandmother back into the hospital. Granddaddy knew something was wrong when Grandmother didn’t want to come to my daughter Breanna’s first birthday party that past Saturday. The nurse was able to get her back into the hospital.

About a week later, the doctor tells us he believes the cancer has come back. We all knew that Grandmother was too weak for any more surgery much less any cancer treatment. I called the Red Cross in order to see if my John, who’s in the Air Force, could come home. His birthday would be on Friday. Under normal circumstances, my brother wouldn’t have gotten to come home, but he had the weekend off. Since he was off, his CO allowed him to come.

On November 4, 2001, my grandmother passed away. She was 78 years young. She was buried on November 6.

Grandmother’s funeral went as any typical funeral would go. Later that evening I answered the telephone; it was Kevin Foster. Kevin was a member of our church as well as the youngest brother of my mother’s lifelong best friend Brenda. Brenda was also married to my daddy’s first cousin. Kevin wanted to speak to Daddy, so I called Daddy to the phone. By the time Daddy got off the phone with Kevin, Brenda’s oldest son Ronnie was calling Mother’s cell phone.

Brenda had just gone to her heart doctor about a week before Grandmother died. She had gotten the best report she had ever gotten. On the way home from the funeral, Brenda had a massive heart attack and died. It hit my mother pretty hard. Not only was Brenda like a sister to Mother, they were also co-workers.

Our family got through Christmas and New Year’s. It was hard for Granddaddy being alone after 55 years of marriage. Then Spring Break came.

My daddy was a truck driver. He was coming in from a northeastern run coming down through Chattanooga and Huntsville on U.S. Highway 72. As he was coming into Huntsville, there is an intersection with a stoplight that had just turned green as he approached it. There were two trucks that had to stop for it. Those drivers radioed Daddy telling him to come on around because they were loaded. As my Daddy went through the intersection and started up the incline, he jackknifed, sending him over the ridge.

The other two drivers stopped their trucks and called DOT. They watched the emergency responders pull my Daddy out of his rig. There was a third person that had stopped with the drivers. He left as soon as they saw my Daddy was dead.

Having your mother knock on your side door, telling you to let your neighbors and pastor in the front door while she talks to your husband is a sick feeling. Especially when you don’t see your daddy with them, because you know he’s on the road. I knew why Ms. Brenda, Mr. Larry, and Bro. Don came with Mother. I just asked, “Is it Granddaddy or Daddy?”

Ms. Brenda said, “It’s Robert.” Then she embraced me and held me until Mother came around with Johnny. I thought it was rough having to see my grandmother suffer, but at least I got to say good-bye.

We would get through Easter, Brenda’s birthday, Mother’s Day, Grandmother’s birthday, Father’s Day, and Fourth of July. Daddy’s birthday was on August 23 exactly seven days after his mother’s birthday, so his brothers came down that weekend. My daddy was the second child my grandparents lost.

Mamaw’s birthday was on Friday. My uncles were leaving that Sunday, so Mother went to eat breakfast with them before they left. One of Granddaddy’s church members had been trying to check on him, but had gotten in touch with him. The church member called my Uncle Vaughn to check on Granddaddy. Uncle Vaughn told him, “Daddy went over to my cousin Jane’s last night. Daddy’s been talking about going and seeing Aunt Dee, so him and Jill may have gone down there this morning.”

On Uncle Vaughn’s way to church that morning, he decided to go by Granddaddy’s. He didn’t see Mother’s car at home and both of Granddaddy’s vehicles were at home. He tried to get into the house but both the front and back doors were locked. He went around to Granddaddy’s bedroom window and saw Granddaddy lying in the floor.

I had just finished getting dressed for church. Just before we left, the house phone rang. The caller id says it’s Granddaddy, but it’s Mother on the other end wanting to speak to Johnny. I just responded with a no, because I’m not ready. John, my brother, couldn’t come home for the funeral, so we had it the next day.

As you’re ready this essay, you’re probably wondering how could anyone deal with all these deaths of close family members so close to one another. It’s been hard, but the Good Lord has helped eased the suffering, but deaths were only part of the struggle.

That November, Uncle Vaughn started feeling funny at work. With the symptoms he was experiencing, he thought he was having a heart attack. He went to the emergency room. He hadn’t had an attack yet, but was on the verge of having one. We got though that scare with Uncle Vaughn only having to have stints put into his heart.

Then we get news that my husband had two ruptured discs in his neck that had started cutting into his spinal cord. He was off work for nearly two months before he had surgery.

I took off the last week in January for what I thought would be to take care of my husband. That week turned into spending some time with my brother who was leaving for Korea in about two weeks and going to my Granddaddy’s oldest sister Dee’s funeral.

Six weeks to the day from my husband’s surgery, my entire family was involved in a car wreck. My husband, my 11-year-old stepdaughter, and myself didn’t receive any injuries. My 12-year-old stepdaughter and my 2-year-old daughter were knocked unconscious.

My stepdaughter was lucky; it was only a double concussion. My daughter Breanna wasn’t. She had a cracked skull from ear to ear with a section about the size of a quarter shattered like a windshield. She also had a large hematoma on her front left lobe of her brain. In order to keep the pressure from increasing inside her skull they had to keep her sedated, but she was still moving.

I don’t know which was worse: seeing my daughter like that, or having to tell my mother what had happened. It lacked two days being the one-year anniversary of my father’s accident and my mom was in Florida.

The wreck was on Monday. The resident surgeon who was treating my daughter wanted to try a procedure he had only done once on a 21-year-old male. No way! On Tuesday, by noon we had Dr. Mulhauser accepting Breanna’s case at LeBonheur. By 3 pm that afternoon the helicopter team was they’re prepping my daughter for transport. We would wind up spending 2 and half weeks in ICU, then an additional three weeks in a regular room. During that time, Breanna would have two surgeries: one to remove the skull and hematoma, and the second to replace the skull which had been preserved in a bone bank, not my daughter’s belly.

It would be a while before we had anyone close to us pass away. Our wreck gave me just the jar I needed to get pregnant. When we got home from LeBonheur, I found out I was 6 weeks pregnant.

If you believe, God will use everything that happens to you for a reason. Breanna and Cordell are living proof. In 2004, my husband surrendered to preach. These trials I had to endure will help me with our ministry.

I have a new trial to endure. On Monday, May 14, 2007, my little brother United States Air Force Staff Sgt. John Thomas Self was killed instantly by an IED in Baghdad. Iraq. He loved serving his country because he wanted everyone everywhere to have the same freedoms we have.

1400 words