Yates - All That Matters

All that Matters

By Diane Yates

ALL THAT MATTERS is published by:

Deer Hawk Publications, an imprint of Deer Hawk Enterprises

www.deerhawkpublications.com

Copyright 2016 by Diane Yates

www.dianeyates.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting copyrights listed above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means: electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright owner and/or the publisher, except for excerpts quoted in the context of reviews.

The authors have tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from memories of them. In order to maintain their anonymity in some instances the names of some individuals and places have been changed as well as some identifying characteristics and details such as physical properties, occupations and places of residence.

Cover design by:

Ray Polizzi

Layout by:

Aurelia Sands

ISBN

978-1-62596-913-2

Linda-1955

LouAnn-1955

Catherine and Diane-1956

Larry-1957

Larry-1957

LouAnn and Diane-1957

LouAnn-1957

Diane-1957

Diane and Rick-1972

LouAnn, Catherine, Diane, Linda-1972

Rick, Catherine, Diane-1972

Catherines Texas Family Gathering-1976

Diane-1976

Francis and Ginny-1976

Lindas Family-1977

Francis, Diane, April, Brian, Christa-1983

Catherine-1991

Catherine-1994

Francis and Diane-1995

Francis Napping with Great Grandson, Nick-2002

Prologue

January 1997

I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come

again and receive you unto myself, that where I am, there you may be also.

John 14:2b-3

The phone on the shelf of our headboard rang. In a foggy haze, I answered it. The familiar voice resonated clearly.

Im home now, Mother said, here in the mountains. Before I could speak, she continued, I just wanted you to know Im thinking about you.

I opened my eyes immediately. I wished I was still asleep, and I desperately ached to hear her voice again. She sounded so real. Heat from my love resting next to me usually kept me warm, but even so, I had deep, cold chills and goosebumps covering my body. I believe in dreams; not all of them, but certainly some possess purpose and meaning. In the darkness, I looked at the clock as my mothers words echoed in my head.

My husband, Rick, stirred and leaned over me, resting on his elbow. What is it?

After I explained, he held me close and stroked my hair.

I miss Mother, the way she used to be, you know. I miss talking with her and telling her my troubles. I reached for the phone. I have to check on her.

Its four oclock in the morning, Honey, he reasoned. The nursing home would call if anything was wrong.

Youre probably right. I guess I can wait. Even though he made sense, I still felt uneasy.

Later that morning, the call came. Yes, Ill meet the ambulance at the hospital, I told the nursing home. Driving my car above the speed limit on Highway 121, I sped toward Fort Worth and Plaza Medical Center. I remembered the last time I drove to see her at the hospital.

Oh, its you, she had said. You always come. Tears silently rolled down my face as I signaled and changed lanes. I didnt bother to brush them away.

When I arrived, it wasnt like the last time. She lay there with her eyes open. I quickly moved to her side, hoping to provide comfort, but her vacant eyes didnt notice me. I took her hand in mine, but she didnt react. Even though life still coursed through her veins, she didnt appear to be there.

Mother had always been there for all of her seven children, wanting to remove their problems, working tirelessly to help in any way, and caring as only she could.

A nurse entered the room with an IV bag. And you are? she questioned me before assisting the doctor who was examining Mom.

Im Diane Yates, her daughter.

She hung the bag and connected it to the tube in Mothers arm. Another tube looped behind her ears and carried oxygen. The machine next to her bed made the sound of a heartbeat. I had scarcely absorbed the scene when that same machine erupted into a blaring alarm, startling me.

Mrs. Yates, youll have to wait outside, the doctor instructed.

Outside the room, I paced and searched for my cell phone in my purse. My hand trembled as I dialed my sister Linda; she and I shared in caring for Mom.

Linda, it doesnt look good, I told her.

Ill be there as soon as I can.

Then I called my oldest sister, Audrey, in Florida.