A Sweet Time

Late this afternoon, I had to meet Rebekah with her medicine. I went out on the deck and told Moma that I needed to run to the drug store and get Rebekah's medicine and meet her in Glencoe with it. I told her that I wanted her to ride with me.
As we passed her former home (where she lived from age 7 until 2007), she said, "I don't like to ride by here. It makes me so sad." I had to choke back the lump in my throat. I feel exactly the same way. I want to stop, and take her HOME! Sit on her porch and play "Doodlebug", and dig in her flower bed. I could feel the hot tears forming. I turned onto Wall St. where the drug store is.
She sat in the car while I ran into the drug store. I parked right out front of Jerry's so I could watch her. She rambled through my purse while I waited on the medicine. After returning to the car, and turning onto Sansom Ave. I felt that lump in my throat forming again. "I sure do miss my little town" she said. OMG! I am dying here......Memories of her taking me to Elmore's and the library and Phillip's Drug Store came rushing in on me. I could feel the Keds tennis shoes on my feet; the ones she bought me. They were plaid T-strap tennis shoes, very unique (because my fat little fingers had a hard time tying shoes). I could smell the library, the dime store......I had to just ride in silence, thankful to be heading out of Alabama City; her little town.
On down the road a bit, I gathered my wits and talked with her just like nothing in our lives had changed. We talked about how different parts of town have grown up, and how some places that used to look nice were now shabby. She asked me what "Glencoe" was called, and soon we arrived at the First Baptist Church where I meet Rebekah. When we parked, I rolled down the windows and opened the sun roof. There was a nice breeze, and the mountains were in our view. I silently thanked God for all the precious times I have had with this now difficult little woman. She asked about my sister, and I jokingly said, "Who needs her?" We laughed, and she said, "She don't love me like you do. You always loved me best" Of course, I know my sister loves her, but what a precious compliment. As we sat waiting on Rebekah, God put this thought in my mind. What if tonight were her last night? What if she never gets in my truck again? What if we never have a lucid conversation again? She may be a pill most days, but she is still the best friend this chubby little girl could have ever had. How blessed I am!