Songbird by Lisa Samson

Author:Lisa Samson [SAMSON, LISA]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: FIC000000
ISBN: 9780446554299
Publisher: FaithWords
Published: 2008-12-14T05:00:00+00:00

14

Today one of the deacons and his wife took us to Shoney's for a nice lunch, and now I am resting before Ruby and I begin practice for tonight's service. We're singing “Beulah Land” and that newer song, “I Want Jesus in My Life More Than Anything.” Of course, we lead the music with Henry Windsor and tonight is Gaither night. How the folks love to sing those Gaither tunes, and I don't blame them. Tomorrow night is “Life Is Like a Mountain Railroad.” I just love that song.

Without Grace's high parts we'll have to do a little adjusting, I guess, especially when we simulate that train whistle.

But, I feel close to sleep now as I lay next to Hope here in the back of the motor home. And I look down and see her little body there, her eyes closed in slumber. She's so pretty this little one. Her eyes move beneath her lids, which is really pretty odd-looking but nonetheless amazing, and I know she's dreaming about something. I can see the pulse beat in the artery in her neck, so strong and rhythmic and real. The human body never ceases to astound me.

Now it confounds me how living, moving beings just walk about as self-propelled machines. We don't plug ourselves in, and once we're older and we don't have mothers stuffing food in our mouths, we fuel ourselves. It's not like a car that a human has to put gasoline into.

As I said, a real miracle.

I wonder if a time existed when Mama ever laid down next to me and stared at me while I slumbered? How I wish to Jesus I could take for granted that she did. I wonder if her mama, Grandma Min, stared down at my mama, Isla Jean Whitehead?

It's a hard thought because I believe I know the answer. As wonderful as our bodies are, they are also terrible and mysterious and things go wrong. Fine-tuned things like our brains. I ‘picture Mama's brain now and I see this shriveled-up, sick thing sitting there in her skull.

Mentally ill.

I went to the doctor earlier today. I know my life is good, but I can't shake the feeling it isn't. The Sominex isn't working and I think of Harlan's brother E.J. and figured that maybe if his wife had just done something not so drastic when she first realized she had a problem, that maybe all that stuff wouldn't have happened. I told him about my sleeplessness, my tiredness, and how angry I could get at Grace sometimes.

“Do you ever cry for no reason?”

“Not really. But I do get the urge to throw things against the wall every once in a while.”

“Do you?”

“Throw things? No, sir.”

He gave me a test where I answered all sorts of questions like, “Do you ever feel those around you would be better off if you were dead?” to which I answered “no.” But despite that, he tallied things up and said yes, I was depressed. “I thought depression was more extreme.

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