Pieces of a Woman

6

When Aaliyah wakes up at around 1:30, I tell her to give granny a kiss and that we'll be back to see her later. Walking out of the hospital is like walking back into reality. I see the people walking around smiling, listening to music or whatever oblivious to the near tragedies that I have known in the past 24 hours. I am reminded that life goes on outside of us even when we feel that our lives have stopped. And I feel lonely, nobody knows our tragedies; it's just me and Aaliyah. I squeeze her closer to my side as we walk in the direction of our apartment.
Once we arrive, I open the door and set Aaliyah down on the couch. The place feels eery without granny. It feels almost purposeless. But nevertheless, I tread to the kitchen and make lunch out of the groceries sister sarah provided us with. As Aaliyah sits at the table and eats, I stare ahead of me. The very spot where my nother read that letter, and loosed a cry for help that I was all too ready to ignore. I suppose I never thought that mothers could NOT be okay sometimes. Growing up I always thought my mother was so strong, so capable and she was for the most part. But looking back on it, all the little things I chose to overlook were painting a bigger picture.
My mother was mentally weak. She never quite escaped the grip that my grandmothers fierce religious devotion had her in. Being raised literally in the church, my mother always had rules and she always had to obey. She never questioned, and I see that now looking back on all the "yes mothers" I heard growing up that had not fallen from my lips. Before my grandmother "found God", she lived poorly. She laid for a living and then spent her earnings on drugs. When she became pregnant with my mother, a product of her profession, she turned tricks for as long as she could before her infliction forced her to stop.
She began begging and wondered into the church in an attempt to find shelter. There she met Sarah, a nun in training around the same age as her. Sarah had never seen a more wretched soul, she was from a small religious town and came to Detroit to "do good where bad was done" as she put it. She saw my grandmother's pregnant condition and felt an immediate obligation to the sinner and her seed. When my mother was born, my grandma saw the light i suppose. She became a nun and was allowed to raise my mother in the church. Sarah told me this story one day as she absent mindedly vented to me in a church pew.
I am reminded of this story now as I think of my mothers dependant state of mind. I try to find reason for my grandmother's tight grip on my mother and i suppose she just didn't want her to experience all the things she did in her youth. But it is a tragedy, so many things could have contributed to my mothers depression. Maybe it was fear of what she'd never had the courage to know. Or maybe it was what was written on the strange letters that she never had the courage to respond to.
Maybe my resentment for my mother is misplaced. I understand why she was so weak, but still I can not let myself be distracted by her demons. As curious as I am about the letters, I won't let her troubles become mine. So I snap back to Aaliyah just in time to see her finish her last bite of grilled cheese. Without the distractions, I notice my own hunger. So I quickly make myself a sandwich, because me and Ally had business to attend to.

* * *
I step into the church holding Ally's hand. The second Sunday service is just ending and people are filing out. We sit in a pew towards the back of the church and wait silently for sister Sarah to finish praying over a family's teenage daughter. She seems annoyed and uninterested. I notice the small bump that is her stomach and come to an understanding. What are they trying to do; exorcise the baby out of her? I would be annoyed too.
When Sarah finished, she ushered the family towards the door and closed it behind them. Then she turned to us to my surprise as I hadn't even noticed that she saw us. She tread over us, sights locked on Aaliyah. Her smile was as if she was seeing her own child after a long day of missing her. She absolutely adored Aaliyah and I sometimes brought her by the church just to get her out of the house. Ally jumped from the pew and leapt into Sarah's arms. They embraced sweetly and I watched. The sight gave me the courage to do what I came to do.
When they finished their hug, I smiled at Sarah. She seemed to see the sad implications behind the smile and her eyes grew worried.
"Come here so we can talk." She instructed as she took Ally's hand and led us to the front of the church. We sat in the pew closest to Christ on the cross. Sarah's favorite spot. When Ally was situated in her lap and affectively playing in her soft grey hair, Sarah turned to me.
"What's wrong?"
"Everything." I ominously replied. This worried her and her brows pulled down in the center.
"Alicia what happened?"
"My grandmother is in the hospital."
"Oh no honey what happened? You just said yesterday that she was fine." I looked down ashamedly.
"She has stage AIDS and we just found out." Sarah hangs her her head and whimpers silently. I add oil to the flame,
"...They gave her one month to live."
At this, Sarah lifts her head and looks me square in the eyes. I buckle beneath the intense green, almost translucent from the tears that stream her face. She grabs my hand and Aaliyah's and begins to pray rapidly. Her prayers are inaudible to everyone but her God I suppose. Beyond her sobbing and frequent choking, all i hear are pleas for mercy upon her soul, insisting that God wouldn't bestow upon her anything she couldn't handle. I just silently watch, tears in my eyes because she isn't asking him for anything that I haven't asked already.
I give her a few minutes to process before i speak again.
"Sister, I'm still praying she pulls through but... if she doesn't, we have nowhere to go." I gesture towards me and Aaliyah.
Sarah wipes her face and her eyes widen in realization. I feel like she knows where I'm going with this but still I ask.
"If she doesn't pull through, can we stay here in the church." I look her in the eyes so she knows how imperative this is.
"Baby," she strokes mine and Aaliyah's head.
"The church is.. struggling, we had to abandon our homeless, orphan, and needy programs earlier this year.We just couldn't afford it anymore."
I look away. This was my way of keeping us together and I don't know where else to turn outside of the church. Sarah starts to talk again but I can't hear her. My mind is racing and my cheeks are heating up. I can feel the tears, cool against my hot skin. A pale hand flashes in front of my eyes as Sarah wipes my tears. She says something else then hurriedly stands up and rushes off to the back. Five minutes later as i dissolve into myself, she rushes back and places a box in my lap.
It's small square and metal, with a handle at the top like a lunch box. On the cover is a sesame street character, "Abby Cadabby". It occurs to me that I know this box. It was mine when I was about 5. I carried it to school everyday as my lunch box. I haven't seen it in about 7 years and I don't ever remember bringing it to the church. I look up at Sister Sarah questioningly and she is already looking in my eyes.
"Everything is in here" she says. "Everything that I told you about." I had no idea what she was talking about. But I nod my head anyways.
"I would tell you the story myself, but it is not my story to tell" she rambles on.
Now go to the hospital and be with your grandmother, I'll be there to see her soon." We stand as she rushes us towards the exit. She kisses us both on the head and watches as we walk away.