I was helping my brother move to Denver from Arlington, Texas, with Oklahoma City as a respite in August a month after doctors diagnosed our mom with liver and kidney cancer. We stayed with her father and stepmom for a night. As we settled in the kitchen for some coffee the morning after, we spoke with Grandma Casey about mom’s status at the Rocky Mountain Cancer Clinic. We listened to stories from her youth, and shared worries about mom’s and their health while Grandad “Big” Daddy in the living room watched Fox News from his La-Z-Boy, only a sliver of light through the paisley curtains. Grandma Casey clutched a Bush/Cheney 04’ mug with a U.S. flag encircling it.

Near the end of our chat, she asked a question.

*

Before we arrived at our grandparent’s home, a troop of teenagers in a passenger van sidled next to us on I-35. They shouted, “Honk your horn if you believe Jesus is our savior!!!” My brother yelled, “Well, where is he, then?! Huh? When is he coming back?” They hollered a blithe “We’ll pray for you!” and it careened off their Southern Baptist insignia on their sliding door, then nestled in our muffler.

*

We didn’t speak about the forthcoming election that morning. We didn’t speak about Jesus after she asked her question: “Well, we are praying for you. You are praying too, right?” Looking at the mug I said, “We do pray, but not like you. More like Buddhists.” The specter of her dejection hovered behind her and her shoulders sunk into the black coffee. Stars and stripes on the mug frowned. A check followed us out the door to help with the expenses, and the feeling of last time dusted the welcome mat.

*

Over Labor Day mom died at our sister’s house with the last of her fish gasps peppering the silence. Cremation arrangements were quickly addressed for the upcoming weekend. Our family volunteered to fly to Oklahoma City then drive Grandma Casey and Big Daddy to Denver to spread mom’s ashes around Mt. Falcon. They said no. I imagine my sister on the phone waiting for their response to our offer, news from their T.V. echoing on their end. The two of them sitting at their kitchen table, slivers of light stirring their answer in their coffee mugs. 

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