A year ago I was 27 weeks pregnant and spent a lot of my time barefoot in a kitchen. I had been vacationing with Ben in St. John as somewhat of a baby-moon when my momma called and said she was heading to Florida and thought I might do the same. My grandmother, who we affectionately call Rufus, was fighting lung cancer and had quickly become much worse. That side of my family has always done that - it’s just what they do - if someone is in need they drop everything, re-arrange work, schedules, travel and show up at their front door with a one-way ticket.
And so within 24 hours of receiving the results from the Mayo Clinic, Rufus moved into my aunt’s house -- my little cousin’s school room becoming a hospice room -- followed by my mother and then me. Guests came from all over; my sister and her fiance soon arrived. It was a beautiful thing to listen as friends and family genuinely expressed to Rufus what an example and inspiration she had been in their lives. We enjoyed several good days which seemed to defy any negative test results but soon it was obvious that Rufus wasn’t at her best. My little baby seemed to be growing at the exact same rate that my sweet grandma was passing. I’d watch my mother and her sister count to three, brace themselves and take much of Rufus’ weight as she lost the ability to move in and out of a chair by herself and I’d silently pray that I would love this baby as well and as deeply as Rufus had loved her children. I watched my mother live out the role that I was about to take on : this weird in-between of daughter and mother at the same time, taking care of and being taken care of.
I was in Florida a total of 3 weeks last April during which I made (and consumed a large portion of), six pound cakes. (We won’t talk about the dr.’s appointment after my return home in which I was told it would be fine if I didn’t gain any more weight, three months before I was due...) There was lifting and cleaning and pushing and pulling to be done and everyone watched out for me and baby -- even Rufus. She’d be the first to snap at me if she thought I was overextending myself. And so, I kept myself busy in the kitchen trying to have food ready for Rufus’ hardworking children that might otherwise forget to eat as can happen when you’re caring so much for someone else. It’s hard to live life together at such a fragile time and in tight quarters but I don’t think any of us would go back and change it. We’d all take turns kissing Rufus goodnight and often she would hold my hands tight and pull my face to hers and whisper a prayer for Ben, for me and for our new baby.
