Early this past Tuesday morning our next door neighbor hurriedly came over to say his elderly, nursing home bound mother was “actively dying” and that he wanted us to watch over and feed his cat Pittypat while he hightailed it to her bedside near the state’s official city of roses. He left within minutes. We knew from many earlier conversations that she had been fading ever surely and steadily into the depths of dementia.

He sped as fast his sedan could go, but his maternal flower folded its bloom before he arrived. Somehow his sister had broken their mom’s tight room plague seal and put him on the phone for his Georgia girl momma’s last moments as he drove like a crazed man somewhere out along US 84 near a town that was known as Old Nine or Number Nine when it was founded in the 1820s.

Mercy comes in different shades and wrappers to us during these times. Hers came as her son neared Waycross Georgia.

-Marlow

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