Crossing Jordan with an Escort

My cousin sent me this picture, which I had never seen before. That's my mother on the left, Grandme in the center, and Aunt Vivian on the right. It was made during one of our visits to Aunt Vivian's farm in Talladega County, Alabama—which means it was probably taken on a Thursday, our official visiting day with her. I thought her house was Disneyland. It was brimming with things that I found fascinating—floors that sort of echoed when you walked on them; a big shelf full of National Geographics over a desk in the dining room; a swivel rocker I could spin around in really fast when the adults weren't looking; beautiful dishes; the girls' room, with all their grown-up teenagey stuff, like Wind Song cologne and sky-blue eye shadow. Seeing this picture of her with Grandme reminded me of that last year my grandmother was with us. She died in her room in my parents' house. And in the months leading up to her parting, with family keeping a constant vigil, she started getting visits from the Other Side. "I tell you what," Aunt Vivian once said, "when you're sitting up at three o'clock in the morning, and Mother starts talking to those people, you'll turn around and look over your shoulder!" She was kidding, of course. The truth is, we all found "the visitors" oddly comforting and thoroughly fascinating. The one I remember most was Uncle Adam, Grandme's brother, who died when I was a child. He always seemed to appear in the left rear corner of her room. Grandme would look at the exact same spot on the wall and calmly say, "Well, there's Adam." She always saw four birds flying out of his shirt pocket. I can't remember all four, but the last one she always described as "that little brown thrush."  Other visitors were anonymous. Grandme would look up at the ceiling, listen, and then answer . . . somebody. Watching her was like being in the room with somebody who's on the telephone—you couldn't hear what the other voice was saying, only Grandme's responses. I'm sure there are all kinds of medical/logical explanations for what we witnessed. Then again, Grandme was always partial to that old gospel song "I Won't Have to Cross Jordan Alone." I firmly believe she crossed over with an escort. 

Comments

[Kacey]

Chills. I absolutely love this story. Thank you. xoxo

[candy mccranie hicks]

She must have been met by a crowd, there were soooooo many of her loved ones there waiting for her and happy to see her.
thanks for the great story ! !

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