When Two Jehovah’s Witnesses Come to Your Door Wearing Dresses on a Cold Morning to Ask How You Deal With the Loss of a Loved One

Diane Payne

1. You answer the door in your slippers, sweatpants, and thermal shirt, obviously bra-less, and they stare a moment, tell their names, then ask yours.

2. Then they say they’ll be quick because everyone is sick, and no one is dressed for this weather, especially since you don’t invite them inside, and you are standing in the carport wondering when they’re going to hand the religious tract to you.

3. They get to the point: How do you deal with the death of a loved one?

4. Finally, someone cares about you. Grief has been knocking on your shoulder for months. You ask if they’d like some whiskey, and they look horrified. You say you will be right back and return with a glass for yourself.

5. You tell them how your dog died two months ago, and people are still asking where the big dog is. “You know what hurts?” They shake their heads. “When people ask, ‘Did you put him down?’ You get this, right? Like asking someone if they pulled the plug on their mother.”

6. You tell them about this writer, Sherman Alexie, and how he has a Post-It in a book that defines grief as being unable to masturbate. “Tell me about that, right?”

7. You tell them you know Jehovah’s Witnesses tend not to vote, but didn’t they just want to crawl into a deep hole with a bottle of Irish Cream last night after that racist Republican woman won the Senate in Mississippi?

8. You tell them how you brought your cat to the vet two days ago, and the vet was so upset to have to tell you about one more pet dying, she pulled you aside to show you the x-rays of a healthy cat first. Then your cat’s x-ray with the huge tumor wrapped around her lungs and heart and one more death sentence. You point to the backyard and tell them about all the dead dogs and cats and how each death haunts you to this day, especially the big dog, the first one who has been euthanized. “I will never forget the look on his face when he got that injection.” They nod their heads.

9. Right after, you excuse yourself to step inside and refill your glass because you’re ready to talk about the dead humans now. You return to an empty carport, not even a religious tract stuck in the door, and you take another sip of the burning, yet soothing whiskey before stepping back inside the house, wishing the women were Faith Healers instead of Jehovah’s Witnesses.

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