FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) part 92

When I came back, they were engaged in lady talk, as I call it. Mama reached out to feel Corrina’s dress, which was a pretty combination of green and red with white laces girls like to wear. Corrina described all the colors and the fabric, telling Mama where she found it in downtown LaGrange when she, her mom and little sister Alane went to the town square to shop at Mansours, one of the high-end stores downtown.

“It must be a Christmas dress,” Mama said, “if it’s green and red.”

Corrina had bought it before last Christmas and had worn it once a week ever since, she said. She told Mama she wanted to wear it that evening and be especially pretty when she came to see her. Mama looked up at her, nostalgically. Her eyes were dark, but her mind wasn’t. Two of the miracles of Mama were that she never had any great pain through it all, and she never lost any of her mind. I still thank the Lord for those blessings.

She turned toward Corrina again, reaching out again to touch her as if she wanted to make sure she was real.

“I remember the first Friday night you came to see me, Miss Corrina. Do you remember what we talked about that night?”

Corrina looked at me with watery eyes. She knew – she could never forget – but she didn’t know if she could hold it together to talk about it. I gave her a nod and a reassuring smile, hoping it would supply the courage she needed.

“Yes ma’am,” she said, “we talked that night about Christmas.” Her voice broke slightly.

“Every time you come to see me,” Mama said, “that’s what I think of, that’s what I’m always going to think of. I don’t know what it is about you, maybe it’s your joy or kindness. People have the Christmas spirit around Christmas, but you seem to have it all the time, Miss Corrina.”

Mama paused. I don’t know for how long. You could tell she wasn’t finished. Corrina waited.

“Corrina, don’t you ever lose that, no matter what. You keep that kindness, regardless of what happens. Can you do that?”

Many years later, Corrina would really be tested, more than ever, but she never lost her kind spirit.

Corrina reached as far down as she ever had to get that promise out for Mama.

“Miss Louise, I promise,” Corrina answered, her voice nothing more than a whisper. I couldn’t say whether it was happy or sad, perhaps, it was both. “I will, sweet Miss Louise,” she added gently, “I will because of you.”

Corrina clutched Mama’s hand and looked at me with that same strange mixture of happiness and sadness in her glassy green eyes. The tears that rolled down her rosy cheeks told her story that night, and I believe they told the story of what she would be for the rest of her life. Whatever she was that night, that is what she would become even more, and nothing would ever take it away.

They talked on, and Mama looked in my direction after a while and reached out to make sure I was still there. Sometimes right in the moment you know you’re stepping on hallowed ground. I knew.

“Where’s my baby?” she said weakly.

“I’m right here, Mama,” I said, almost adding “Mama, I’m not a baby” to give her a laugh. But I was proud in that moment, prouder than I ever thought I could be.

Seeing she wanted to talk to me, Corrina moved her chair closer to the window so Mama could be closer to me. I could tell she felt uneasy, as if she didn’t need to be there; but I touched her on the arm and smiled, letting her know it was okay. She was where she needed to be, where Mama needed her to be.

“Billy Ray,” Mama said, “what do you want to do this Christmas?”

I didn’t expect that, and I had to take some time before I risked getting some words out. My eyes teared, but I tried to hide those tears from my voice.

“Oh, Mama,” I said, “I want us to do what we always do. I may be too old this year for a bicycle or toy soldiers, but maybe I’ll let you tell Santa to bring me another one of those train sets. That was one of my favorite gifts you and Daddy ever put under the tree. We’ll all get together this year, Mama, and I want to drink hot chocolate with marshmallows ‘til I ‘bout burst, and … what do you call that apply cider drink …?”

“Wassel,” Mama said, “Oh, I love Wassel, too.”

“And we’ll sit around the tree,” I went on, “I’ll have to go out and cut one down myself this year. I’ll go out to the Bowen place where Daddy always went … or maybe, if Miss Corrina Belle wants, she and I will go out on their place, and I’ll let her pick one out that’s perfect. Her tomboy little sister Alane would love to go out in the cold to find a good one, and she’d probably cut it down for us while Corrina and I bossed.”

I looked at Corrina and grinned but kept going. “And we’ll decorate it the best ever, with the lights flashing the reds, greens, yellows, blues, I loved the colored lights more than anythin’ – more than the presents under the tree. And we’ll sing our favorite songs, jus’ as we all did the other Friday here …”

“‘Away in a Manger’?” Mama interrupted.

“Oh, for sure, and ‘Rudloph,’ and ‘White Christmas,’ and ‘Silver Bells,’ and ‘Jingle Bells,’ and …”

“And Batman smells,” Mama said, chuckling.

That hit us all funny because it was so unexpected after Mama’s hard night and the reality of her eyesight failing. We laughed, just as before, and reminisced until she got tired. She got quiet when she was tired, and then her eyes, which had been so bright, got sad again. Mama managed a weak smile and said, “Billy Ray, say a prayer.”

The Lord must’ve given me more strength that night, more than He had ever given me before. Mama reached her hand out for me to hold, and reached toward Corrina with the other and took hers. She closed her eyes even though those eyes were now dark as night. I had to dig deep to answer her request, knowing at the top of it all we would need to say a special prayer for the Lord to hold Mama in the stillness of the night. I paused before I came to the Mama part, and I paused after. I could feel Corrina’s tears falling, and my own, and the only words I could find to end the night were those, “Lord, please bless my Mama, please Lord.”

And then Mama slept.

Corrina held Mama tighter than I had ever seen her, and she cried when we walked away.

That would be the last time Corrina would see her.

Coach Steven Ray Bowen served as a teacher and basketball coach at Red Oak High from 1998-2012 and recently spent two years teaching and coaching at Ferris. He and his wife Marilyn (the “amazin’ blonde”) served many years with the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl/Ovilla Roads, but now spend time evangelizing in several states in addition to Coach’s work as a writer and author, including the writing of the ongoing novel/memoir here in the Press. Call or text (972) 824-5197, or email coachbowen1984@gmail.com, or see frontporchgospel.com.