The Passing of Millie Hudson

Intro

Millie cried off and on during the whole car ride back to her old stomping grounds of Dawsonville, Georgia. See, four days ago she got the news her sister, Emma, passed on and well, poor Millie just fell apart. Can't say I blame her. Seeing her sister was gone now, that left Millie the last descendent in a long line of Hudsons, and being a spinster, she ain't never had no kids of her own. Now Emma on the other hand been married three times and had a couple of grown-up kids somewhere — last I heard, one had disappeared somewhere in Nevada; the other was living the fancy life in England.

Over the years, Millie'd listened to her sister lament about how she never knew how them kids were getting along and it made Millie so angry sometimes thinking about them rotten youngins. Lawdy, she'd bitch and moan for hours about the way those inconsiderate brats left their mama all alone in that big house out in the middle of nowhere. Now, sitting in the back seat of the Mercedes, she wondered aloud how they'd reacted to the news of their mama's death, if they'd heard the news a'tall.

Millie slapped her gloved hand on the back of the front seat making me and that sweet young driver and caregiver, Jacob, to flinch.

"Oh, what am I saying. Of course they've heard. Tell those rotten kids their mama hasn't got much time on this earth and they don't even bother sending her a damn get-well card. But watch. Now they know she's dead, they'll be swarming like vultures wanting a piece of this, a piece of that. Why, they're probably already fighting over who's getting the silverware and china. Trust me. Emma won't be five minutes in her grave before those kids will be putting their names on every damn thing in that house." Millie folded her frail hands in her lap and looked out of the window. I saw a slight smile reflect in the tinted glass. "But I've got news for them," she continued. "That house is mine and they'll have to walk on my grave before they take a dust bunny from the premises."

I smiled and shifted in the backseat, unfurling my legs. Now that's my Millie, feisty as ever.

Millie's arthritis started acting up something terrible about an hour outside her hometown and the rain pounding on our car — well it ain't helped a bit. It just made her cough worse and made the ground all soggy and such. I worry about my Millie. Ever since I known her, she's had a chronic cough and lately she's taken to having those clear tubes stuck in her nose and a noisy clicky machine that breathes for her. But in spite of all her ailments, she ain't never looked back and felt sorry for herself. She's had a good eighty-one years on this God's green earth and she'd always taken mighty right good care of me over the years. Yep. You won't ever find a better friend than Millie Hudson.

It had taken about three hours to make the drive from Jonesboro to Millie's childhood home in the Blue Ridge Mountains. We stopped at the old general store at Millie's insistence 'cause she just had to have a Coca Cola. Millie loves them Coca Colas. She ain't supposed to have them, being all sickly and such, but she figured the good Lawd gonna take her soon anyways, she might as well be happy. Jacob came back out shielded beneath an umbrella with the owner of the store, Mr. McMurry, at his side. I tell you what. I thought me and Millie was old, but this man — well, he looked like he'd done died and risen again, all skin and bones, but mostly bones. He shuffled over to the car and peeked his powder blue eyes over the top of the window that Millie'd lowered just a little. He offered his condolences then waved us off on our way. Looking at him I must say I suspect he's going to be right behind Millie soon, finding his final resting spot 'neath the azaleas.

We traveled on for a while bouncing and flouncing over the pot-holed roads. Finally, as if God had no more tears to spend, the rain let up and the sun poked its bright head out from behind them old rain clouds. That was right near the time Jacob turned down the old familiar road, the wheels grinding and spitting out the gravel. Millie sat more upright now and slid a little closer to me, though her eyes were focused straight ahead.

Now I gotta tell you, seeing Millie's face light up at seeing her childhood home at the end of the long drive made me happier than a dog in a pool full of raw steaks. The two-story farmhouse, with its gingerbread trim, spindles and round towers, still wore a luxurious coat of bright lemon-yellow. The sky-blue shutters were a little chipped and faded, exposing the wood's natural sensibility and age. Vibrant wild flowers and honeysuckle crept over the prize-winning gardens, and in the front yard, an old horse-drawn carriage tilted up on a tree stump, one metal wheel still deeply rooted in the half-parched lawn. Can't say much was left of the picket fence Millie and I used to play on when we was little; many of its railings have broken or disappeared altogether. As we pulled to a stop, my eyes wandered toward the lone headstone in the side yard. Mama Hudson. To my amazement, it still stood strong and upright with the same strength and fortitude of the old woman it honors.