Lord Have Mercy
I don't want nobody cuttin' on my head," he kept sayin'. He went on like that for several days. Finally we convinced him he had to have the surgery. It was his only chance. They scheduled the operation for that night. We were sittin' around tellin' him not to worry. Tellin' him that everything would be ok. He was so scared. I felt like we were in a room with a man on death row. Finally some orderlies pushed a contraption in and lifted him onto it. I hugged him before they wheeled him out and he looked in my eyes. "Pray for me...try it," he whispered. Then he disappeared out the door...down the hall...and around the corner. I was surprised by what dad had asked me to do. I knew he had never had any use for preachers, sermons, church or heaven and hell. I sat down and wondered if god would or even could help people like us.
Excerpted from EVEN DOGS GO HOME TO DIE © Copyright 2001 by Linda St. John. Reprinted with permission by HarperCollins. All rights reserved.
Even Dogs Go Home to Die: A Memoir