Thama

G’s grandmother died last night at around 11 PM. She had fallen a couple of days ago and broken her hip. Earlier last night she had a massive heart attack and G called to tell me that. She then called this morning to let me know that Thama had died.
What I knew of “Thama” (a name G’s sister, the oldest grandchild, created through childhood speech) were these things.

When I first met her after a stroke a couple of years ago, she couldn’t talk too well, but she still fluffed her hair and set up when I came into the room for the first time. All of her grandchildren were there that day and I took a picture of them with Thama when we got her up to go outside for a while. She kept on giving me an eye, like she didn’t know me, but she did know me. Like she was letting me in and keeping me out. Like we had a secret pact that could be shared with no one. All of it could’ve been my imagination. Perhaps I reminded her of someone she once knew but she could not put her finger on. Or perhaps I was just a stranger and I only imagined all that I felt happening between us.
She had lost weight in her body and face and was not the same person I had seen even in recent photos. I know G hurt then about what was going on. Things would never be the same in her relationship with Thama. Conversation would be difficult if it could happen at all, much less singing like they did together.
I saw her once in the last year when she was in the hospital again and her bed was surrounded by netting to keep her from getting out through her restlessness. G’s aunt M helped translate through a series of Thama’s head nods and shakes. A certain amount of communication happened. She laughed and prayed and I think I even remember an attempt at singing.
My main memory of Thama though, and the one that is keeping me teary-eyed all day today, is a time when I was not even there – a time that I only know through videotape. G, Thama and other family members were at Myrtle Beach’s Chesterfield Inn for a summer getaway, and late at night G set up her video camera and she and Thama sang. They sang a variation of “Katie Dear”, and through some quibbling over lyrics and the occasional lost melody note, you could close your eyes and imagine it was angels singing. Thama singing the harmony, G the melody. G hushing Thama when she thought they may be getting loud enough to disturb other sleeping guests.
Thama went to sleep last night and I doubt she is disturbed in the least. She was a lady who I am sure knew where she was bound. She hadn’t been able to sing for a while, but I imagine before most of us even awoke this morning, all of that had changed. I see her walking, and beautiful, and singing – in harmony, and finally peace.