Page 106 of And Still Her Voice
I clenched my fists when I felt Grandma wanting to speak, so I offered up just a little more information, talking over her, hoping to keep her stifled. “He’s buried out in the back yard under the citrus tree.”
“What the hell?” Tommy said, a little louder.
Mr. Jones, eyes wide as grapefruits, leaned in.
“At least his ashes are,” I responded, holding my breath.
“You don’t say,” Mr. Jones said. “I read he was buried at Glendale Griffith Memorial.”
Grandma scratched her way up my throat. “He was. After seven long years of probate, I had his ashes brought home. It’s where he wanted to be buried—at the home he’d built—a place where he thought he’d remain close to me.”
I felt a strong kick and clutched my stomach. “Tommy, take me home now!”
“But this is our home,” said the prodigal voice skipping up my esophagus. There’d be no shutting her up now. “Darlings, I’d like to stay a little longer.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tommy asked.
My heart thudded. Grandma was back and with the new baby coming, I panicked. How could I be a good mother with her around? I needed to calm down and take back control of my faculties, something I’d been unable to do, especially in this environment.
“Let me bring you some more water,” Mr. Jones said, disappearing into the kitchen.
“What happened to your grandfather?” Tommy asked.
“George killed him,” Grandma said.
And finally, she admitted it.
“I didn’t know anything at the time. I swear on a stack of Bibles. He stole everything from me, my dear Wesley, the relationship I should have had with my son, my music—everything except this house. And now this man, Mr. Jones—take, take, take! It’s all men have done to me and I’m going to get back what’s mine! And then, Anna, you mustn’t allow anyone to take from you ever again.”
“Anna, what are you talking about?” Tommy said.
I pushed up to my feet and my water broke all over Mr. Jones’s—Grandma’s—damask sofa. “Tommy! We need to get out of here. Now!” I yelled as the baby kicked harder. Seizing up with another cramp, I realized the last one happened maybe a minute ago. No, this can’t be. I won’t have the baby in this house!
***
I sunk in and out of consciousness in the ambulance ride over to the hospital. “We’re losing her,” someone screamed over the sirens blaring down Verdugo Boulevard. And then the last thing I heard was Tommy yelling, “Oh, God, no! Anna, please hang on. Please don’t let her die!”
***
I don’t want to die. I’m running through the park. I’m out of breath. Now, I’m drifting down the creek like a little leaf until I come to the ocean.Listen to the orchestra of the ocean, Grandmashouts over the sonar whistle of a dolphin, and the low groan clicking of a whale. The crash of waves, like kettledrums smashing over my head, and soon I can hear the fish humming on the ocean floor. I sit and cross my legs to listen to the harps and sounds of India, to Alice Coltrane’s music. My own music floods my ears, rock’n’roll and then a child’s lullaby.
I bob to the surface and above the sounds of waves crashing, I hear what she hears as I struggle to hang onto my own thoughts and separate myself from Grandma.
And then in the midst, I hear her at the piano. The music is accompanied by flutes and oboes, horns and trumpets, timpani and cymbals. Cellos and sounds of violins fill my ears with a fortissimo in D minor. “Isn’t this glorious, Anna?” I fly off the horizon, until I reach that space in between the two worlds, that place full of light. That pure place called Amitabha; the place where I’ve come without my ego, where you do not return to the circle of life. I feel such joy. And then a suction and I see her face and the ancestors who’ve gone before me. I’m not scared. I want to stay in this pure place. I see my father and I don’t hate him. Grandma takes my father’s hand and floats toward her place in front of a giant orchestra filled with ancestors from generations. I take a seat at the giant piano, but I don’t want to be a part of her ensemble. And yet, I don’t want to leave. This is the most wonderful feeling of my life. But this isn’t my life. This is my death, Grandma’s death.
I can hear Tommy yelling in the distance, “Anna, please come back! I need you.”
I feel his kiss on my lips, so warm and powerful, and then I’m back in my childhood home, splashing in the creek, playing with my siblings, playing my music. And then from this perspective, I see all the beauty in my life, all the happiness I’ve been searching for only to discover there is nothing greater than finding love.My world is a mirror magnifying my light, overflowing with the love I’ve been searching for my whole life.
Finally, I’ve come to understand all of this. Please, don’t let it be too late.
I hear a baby crying. And still her voice, but now it’s from somewhere outside my head, “Darling, go home. Dylan needs you.”
CHAPTER 40
Love,Mom
1977:Dear Dylan,
