My grandmother, Bessie Fern Powell, held me when I was a baby.
I don't remember her. I was 2 years old when she died in October, 1955, at age 61 of cancer.
But I pray for her repose regularly, along with her husband, my grandfather Luther Powell, and my other grandparents, departed uncles and aunts and cousins, and a few folks, passed away and still living, who were sources of pain --and thus learning -- in my life.
So, all I have of Bessie is the memory of an old black-and-white snapshot my mother showed me. It was of my grandmother, who hailed from the Scots McGinnis family, holding me, wrapped in blanket.
That photo may be among the few belongings she left behind. I've not, yet, been able to bring myself to go through them.
Mom passed away on June 28, age 91, after years of being ravaged by Alzheimer's disease. I had seen her last in late March, when I buried by father. During our visits we had a few seconds of her being "present," a smile and a laugh, before the blank eyes and drifting off to sleep regained increasing, and terminal dominion.
Staff at her nursing home in Cheney, Wash., had told me her last few weeks were non-responsive ones. And finally, in the early morning hours a couple weeks ago, she just stopped. So, that was my image of her final breaths in this life, as I have prayed the Eastern Orthodox Christian Akathist for the Departed the past week or so.
But, back to Bessie.
Today I learned of another piece of the story of Katherine Mims' final moments, one that means so very, very much.
Late the day before she was found deceased, a staffer told my family, Mom awoke out of her near-coma briefly, shouting with surprised delight: "Mama!"
And then, she fell asleep again. As far as we know, she never awakened again, at least in this world.
Could it be? My heart tells me, yes.
Thanks, Grandma Bessie.
I look forward to someday seeing, and remembering you, for eternity.
