It snowed on Friday, Dec. 7, 1962 in Forest, Miss.
My mother was five days away from her 43rd birthday when I was born. I was not planned and I would be the youngest of six children. My 12-year-old sister thought my mother would surely die because she was “old.”
Sue Henderson was a nurse’s aide at a newly built convalescent home and was studying nursing but she had to give up school because the demands of work and family were just too much. She spent the rest of her life taking care of others.
For 31 years she remained on the staff of the S.E. Lackey Memorial Convalescent Home – caring for the residents, growing flowers in their windowsills and crying like a baby when they left this world.
As a child, I spent a great deal of time there. I formed friendships with many of the residents. Sadly, there were several who received few visitors or none at all and Mama found that unacceptable. She often sent me to read to them and after I had read Dick and Jane more times than I could count, I picked up the next book I saw…the Bible. They were very patient and would prompt me as I stumbled over words that they had committed to memory. For some residents, memory was a blank slate. Sometimes they’d ask me when they could go home or other questions that I couldn’t answer so, I would sing or dance to entertain them.
As a busy teen, I found it depressing and visited less. I told Mama that I just didn’t understand how she could do it every day. She said that they needed someone to love and take care of them. It made her happy to help them.
I’m sure she saw a lot of pain and heartbreak in her 31 years there. She retired at 74 to care for Daddy when prostate cancer returned and spread through his body. She had gotten him through it once and she expected to do so again but he died just a short time later.
Five years later, Mama would attend a cooking school that I was directing for the newspaper I was with at that time. She was proud of me. Right before the show started she suffered an aneurysm.
Rushed to the hospital, we were quickly told her condition was critical. She spent her few conscious moments apologizing for the “inconvenience.” Mama slipped into a coma and for days my sister and I slept in the ICU waiting room. Visiting hours were twice a day and we went in to talk to her “just in case” she could hear us.
Inside the pockets of the sweater that she had been wearing I found her keys and her wallet. In her wallet were four dollars and a worn and tattered little piece of paper inside of plastic with something written by a child. Looking closely I saw that it was Psalms 23, her favorite scripture. She had surgery when I was 10 and I had written it for her hospital stay.
That night I prayed not for her recovery, but for one more time that she would understand what I was saying. I needed to tell her how much I loved her and appreciated all that she had sacrificed for me. Not because she didn’t already know, but because I just needed to say it one more time. I reasoned with God that if I could just have that one chance again, then I could let go of her.
Still dark outside the next morning, my sister and I laughed about needing coffee because visiting hour was so early. In her room, we called her name as usual. Without opening her eyes, Mama asked, “Why are y’all up so early?” It was a prayer answered. So for the next hour, we laughed, we cried and we told her everything in our hearts. Mama ended the visit by telling us that we needed to eat breakfast.
She lived for six weeks but that was the last hour that she was truly coherent. One hour was such a gift. I suspect that there are few people in the world truly called to be “nurses.” I met a number of them at Baptist Medical Center during that time. In a person’s life when compassion was needed most, they were there and they were good and kind to Mama. I think these nurses and doctors were her reward for her compassion to others.
At 5:30 a.m. on Saturday, April 18, 1998, Sue Henderson passed away peacefully in Jackson, Miss.
Rowan attended Monday's Memorial Day services in our hometown and wanted to use my camera. He got a little hot and bored and decided on a self portrait. After it was over we met up with Rowan's paternal grandmother, Mammie and great grandmother, Mamaw Frances. Mammie is also a photographer so he got the bug from both of us. He is extremely blessed to have such a large family to love him.
