Priscilla and I drove to Texarkana Sunday and had Easter lunch with John. We were supposed to meet John at West Side Church of Christ, but people at the group home misunderstood advance voice communications and called the church and said the transportation van need not come by because we would get John before church. The CNA in charge Sunday was scheduled to take another resident to another church, so when we did not arrive, she arranged for John to attend services there.
All in all, everything worked out. John went to church, and he and we had lunch.
The CNA was helping two other residents from a car when Priscilla and I arrived. Those two men use wheel chairs to get around. One cannot stand.
John stood in the carport. Priscilla and I got out of our car.
John walked to Priscilla and asked, “Is my momma dead yet?”
Priscilla replied, “No, John. She might not die for another few weeks or months.”
John said, “She’s sick and she’s going to die.”
Priscilla said, “Yes, she is sick and she will die, but not just yet.”
We got in our car; John sat in the back passenger seat. After buckling his seat belt, he said, “When my momma dies, the funeral home will get her.”
“That’s right,” Priscilla said. “When she dies, I will call the funeral home and they’ll come get her.”
“They’ll put her in an ambulance,” John said. He sighed. “That’s a whole lot of miles to Little Rock.”