"What I remember most about the summer of 1934, when Dad got his tonsils out, is how hot it was. The middle of July in Blackwood, VA, and we hadn't seen a drop of rain or felt a cool breeze for days. The ground was parched, the flowers drooping. Normally, I could at least cool down with an ice-cold drink. The ice man hadn't been around, though, and the last block of ice in our icebox had long since melted.
Dad was recovering from his operation in the downstairs bedroom when Mom rushed out to the kitchen telephone. She called the doctor's office. 'He's haemorrhaging badly,' she said, urgency in her voice. 'What can we do?' Then I heard her repeat the doctor's instruction. 'Ice. Make a compress of ice and pack it around his throat.'
But there was no ice for miles around. We lived 10 miles from town. Dad couldn't be moved and Mom didn't dare leave him. She tried wrapping Dad's neck with cloths drenched in cold water, but it was no use. His throat kept swelling and he was still bleeding. Tears filling her eyes, Mom said brokenly, 'Lord, you take over. I'm lost.' I was worried so I wailed a prayer of my own. 'God, please help my daddy. Please!'
Mom took me in her arms just as the wind began to blow. The sky grew dark as dusk, then simple opened up. The hammering noise on the roof was deafening. Mom kissed me on the forehead. She grabbed a pail and ran outside. Soon she was back, and in 15 minutes Dad's bleeding had been stopped by the large balls of ice she'd collected from the heaven-sent hailstorm."
No comments:
Post a Comment