Down the Rabbit Hole: November 22 A Twist of Fate; Mrs. G's Story

Down the Rabbit Hole: November 22 A Twist of Fate; Mrs. G's Story: The Navajo Indians believe that when you share your story you pass along your spirit to those the tale is given and the person lives on ...

November 22 A Twist of Fate; Mrs. G's Story

The Navajo Indians believe that when you share your story you pass along your spirit to those the tale is given and the person lives on through the retelling of the story.

While living in Dallas, as a nanny, a friend of mine asked if she could pass my name and contact information to a church member. Her mother was not able to take care of herself and she needed someone to stop in once a day to make sure she was taking her medications, eating healthy, and helping keeping her clean the apartment. It would also be a paying position and I agreed. In a few days the woman’s daughter, I will call her Mrs. G’s daughter, contacted me and we got together to talk about what her expectation were. She had shared that over the last year her mother had run off everyone who she had hired and was a true southern spitfire. Mrs. G’s daughter hired me and we drove over to Mrs. G’s apartment and the introductions were made. She was very warm and receptive to me and even offered me a cookie. I shared that I would be over after 6pm as that was when the family I took care of parents would be home and could spend as much time as she liked. I even shared that I love to cook and could make up meals for her to eat. Each time I shared what I could do Mrs. G would smile and say, “What a dear, you’re too kind.”

The next day I walked up to her apartment and knocked to my surprise she didn’t answer. I knocked again and stated who I was and again no reply. Mrs. G’s daughter had given me a key and I was worried sick that something was wrong and my heart stopped. I opened the door and there was Mrs. G sitting on the coach watching TV. I walked over and asked her if there was anything she wanted me to do? She looked at me and back at the TV. This was not the sweet old lady of yesterday. I asked again and to my surprise she turned her TV off looked at me with fire in her eyes and told me she didn’t need some Yankee Woman barging into her home and telling her what to do! As much as I tried to share with her that her daughter hired me and is paying me to see if she ok and to please let me fulfill my vow I made with her. She gave me a look I think Scarlett O’Hare would have been proud of and said, “It’s my daughters money that is being wasted not mine, now be on your way, Yankee!”

I quickly looked at her pill box and saw that she had eat one of the dinners her daughter had prepared for her. Taking as little time as possible as not to upset Mrs. G I did up the dishes and took the trash out with me as I left. I told her what a pleasure it was helping her and I would see her tomorrow around the same time. This went on for weeks and I had shared my concerns with Mrs. G’s daughter that I didn’t think she liked me and perhaps she should find someone else. Then Mrs. G’s daughter said I had lasted longer than anyone else she had hired and asked me to please stay on.

The weeks slipped into months and Mrs. G did begin to warm up to me and even bought me a thank you card. One day when I came to visit I had eaten something that hadn’t agreed with me and gave me diarrhea. When I arrived to Mrs. G’s apartment I asked if I could use her bath room and while there I used it several times. She, in her southern dialect asked me if I was having, “Bathroom Problems?”

“Oh no, my bathroom works fine I just have diarrhea really bad.”

Mrs. G’s face turned red, she looked away and gasped, “Why you Yankees are so explicit in your language. A well brought up lady would never refer to her situation as how you have but as “Bathroom Problems”

Now it was I whose face was red and I apologized profusely and started to laugh. Because this was not the first time a language barrier had occurred while living in Dallas. I always seemed to find myself in situation of my own making. Yet to my surprise Mrs. G was laughing just as hard as I was. She let me sit down next to her and told me that she was warming up to me despite that I was a Yankee.  

Time slipped by and the end of November was upon us, Mrs. G and I were becoming good friends. I would spend several hours sitting with her watching TV and helping her around her apartment. It was around November 22 that I had taken a visit to the Grassy Knoll where J.F. K was assassinated. I was only a baby at the time it had taken place and its history was passed on to me by what I had read and what my parents. It held no really emotional response as it did to those that were old enough to remember and to live through it. That night I went to Mrs. G’s apartment and shared with her my day and where I had visited. Mrs. G’s face turned white and stillness filled the air. She turned her television off and asked me to sit next to her. As I faced her I noticed out the window it was raining and dusk had fallen. The room seemed to take on a holy glow as if an epiphany was to occur. Her eyes swelling with tears that she was able to hold off and her frail hand shaking on mine began to tell me a story that changed my life.  

It’s interesting how things happen in your life, she began. My husband was a well-known business man in Dallas and had been invited to meet the President when he came to town. Being his wife I too would be able to meet him and his wife. As the time approached and we were told of the day and time I realized that that day I would be at the blood bank volunteering. You see dear, back then when you made a commitment you stayed true to your word regardless of the sacrifice. That morning I gave my husband our camera and told him to take lots of pictures and he could share them with me. While at the blood bank we got the call that there were people with multiple gunshot wounds heading to Parkland Memorial Hospital and needed blood. I was given the blood and headed toward the hospital. When I arrived I was not aware who needed the blood and was directed to the room. As I walked in chaos permeated the air. As the blood was taken from me it was as if the wind had been knocked out of me and as I turned there sat Mrs. Kennedy covered in her husband’s blood. Immediately I went to her side, she looked so small and frail. I reached into my purse and took a handkerchief and started to help her clean up. She took my hand and looked into my eyes. At that moment it dawned on me what had happened, there laid her husband who had been killed. Here sat this young woman who was young enough to be my daughter and yet it was the First Lady of our country. She thanked me in a calm voice and took the handkerchief from me and started to clean herself up. As she did I couldn’t help notice how calm, brave, and lady like she was. I left the room wanted to be as she was and would aspired to be that brave myself. However, all I wanted to do was to go home to be with my husband and children. The days and weeks to pass were difficult, for it was Dallas that the beloved president was assassinated in. We are a proud people and this crushed every Texan that breathed. It’s an irony, Mrs. G continued, it was I who saw the president not my husband and I who sit next to the First Lady. I would gladly have given that up if it meant things would have turned out differently. Her face now seemed to glow and her trembling hand on mine eased some.  The room was still and something passed to me from her and as I walked home in the light rain I knew I had to revisit the Grassy Knoll and experience it through her eyes. The next weekend, I took the same walk that was taken the week-end before and everything seemed so different and my eyes were filled with tears as I felt the spirit of those that had lived through this life changing event.

January had arrived and my days in Dallas were numbered as I had planned on moving back to Michigan. Leaving Dallas would be hard as I had made so many friends and they had filled my heart with their love and stories. One evening I drove my car to check on Mrs. G as we had rain and it had been cold enough to freeze. I knocked and to my surprise she did not ask me to come in. I unlocked the door and proceeded to enter. Only to find the apartment dark, quiet, and no sign of Mrs. G. I called out her name and from her bedroom came a faint voice telling me where she was. I raced to her room and turned on the light. There laid Mrs. G, she looked so small, frail, and fear gripped was written on her face. My heart stopped as I went to her side and when she lifted her hands to me I could tell they were busied, cut, small pieces of dirt were embedded in them, and they were badly swollen. I asked her what had happed and she started to cry. I knelt by her bed holding her hands and whipping the tears from her eyes. My eyes as well filled with tears as she told me that she was useless old woman who can’t take care of herself and how she wished she was dead. I asked her what happened as guilt filled me and remorse for not coming sooner. She shared that she had wanted to take the trash out to the dumpster only a few hundred yards away from her door. As she made it out there and put it in the dumpster, that on the way back that she fell. She could get up and had to crawl in the freezing rain, in her night gown and robe across the pavement to the door of her apartment. There she was able to stand and walk gingerly to her bed. I have been lying here all day asking God to take my life because I am such a burden to so many people.

There was a part of me that wanted to tell her she shouldn’t have taken the trash out, what was she thinking, why would she do that when she knew I was coming over. Then something came over me here laid a woman who had lived through wars, depression, and so much more. She had married, raised a family, laid to rest loved ones and she was strong resilient, and so fragile at the same time. She asked me not to call her daughter and if I would help her clean up and change into some clean. I proceeded to get a tub of warm soapy water, took off her soiled clothing, and began to clean her up. She was so frail and there were bruises all over. Her knees were swollen as was her hip and pelvic area. I was so worried that she had broken something but something inside me knew that I had to do as she wished. It was after I had cleaned her up, got her dressed, and propped her up in bed that something happened. She put her hand on my arm and thanked me; she said what a blessing I was to her, and how much she had grown to love me. There laid a woman who was old enough to be my grandmother and yet she was a woman I had grown to admire and to aspire to be like. At that moment I truly thought I knew what she must have felt like the day that she sat next to the First Lady. I kissed her forehead and told her it was I who was blessed and how much I had grown to love her as well. As I brought her a cup of hot coco she smiled and told me to call her daughter and let her know what had happed. In a few minutes her daughter arrived and was going to call an ambulance to take her to the ER. She pulled me aside and thanked me for everything I had done. Little did I know that I would never see Mrs. G again? As I kissed her good bye she held my hand and said I wasn’t half bad for a Yankee.
Over the next few months I would write to her and she would write back and then I received that letter telling me that she had left this earth to join her husband, parents, and loved ones in heaven. She also shared what a blessing I was to her mom those last months that she lived in her apartment and loved getting cards from me. It is hard to believe that over 21 years have slipped by and Mrs. G’s spirit does live on in my heart and now I have passed it on to you. May her story touch you as much as it has me and together let us keep her spirit alive forever.