Sitting on his front porch that late October day, Jaybird and I stared into a downpour so heavy that we couldn’t see the field of open cotton across the road. Noah couldn’t have witnessed a more dismal scene.
The old black man had lived on the Mississippi Delta plantation all his life. He was my boyhood best friend and mentor, and instilled in me many of the values I live by to this day.
On that sad day, as a young farmer, I watched a crop that promised a huge yield being devastated by ceaseless autumn rains, and as I had always done, I came to my mentor for counseling.
“Son,” he said, “all you kin do is face dis misery like a man, keep puttin’ one foot in front o’ de udder, and move on. Some day you’ll look back and see dis for what it is: a run o’ bad luck. Find comfort in de fact dat de Lawd always makes ways fuh His chillun to bear sufferin’ and come out o’ it better and stronger.”
Recently, I experienced a difficult, painful run of bad luck. I entered the hospital in mid-December to correct a heart problem. The procedure required two doctors; one would enter the heart through a main artery, the other through a chest incision. Both men were confident I could leave the hospital in less than a week.
Following surgery, the run of bad luck began, resulting in a 24-day hospital stay during which I spent most of my time in a deeply depressed drugged haze, attached to racks holding liquids that dripped intravenously into my system, and wired to a heart monitor that beeped information to nurses and doctors.
The first and most dangerous problem was severe blood loss, which necessitated transfusions, followed by a kidney infection that brought about several days of misery.
Then, just as I was signing release papers and thrilled to be going home, the heart monitor set off an alarm that brought doctors and nurses running. The source of the problem was identified, but the doctors refused to let me go home until they had observed me for several more days. Finally, they allowed me to leave.
Creeping along on a cane, I staggered into my apartment and turned on my laptop. Countless emails from well-wishers brought tears to my eyes. Family members, friends, and students said they had been praying for me.
My desk was covered with letters and cards, some from people I don’t even know. All of them wished me a speedy recovery, and many of them said they missed my weekly newspaper columns. For a small-time scribbler like myself, such messages are wonderful, encouraging pats on the back.
Thankfully, I was able to return to work on time, and each day, as Jaybird promised, I feel myself getting better and stronger. And as he said, some day, I will look back and see this terrible ordeal for what it was: a run o’ bad luck.
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
