Mary's Grief

“Mom, it’s me. It’s Peter, your son,” Peter whispered to his mother as she moved to close the door against his body. “Please let me in for just a moment and then I promise to leave you alone”. Keeping his eyes fixed on her blue eyes clouded with grief and fatigue, he discretely moved his foot to block the door.

“There-there now. It’s okay. It’s just your son Peter.”

“Go away. I don’t have a son. Thomas will be here in a few minutes. He’s going to take me home. Mother is waiting for me. She needs my help!”

Peter had been through this conversation many times with his mother in the last three years. Each time he hoped his comforting voice and familiar presence would help remove his mother’s confusion and anxiety. But, every time he tried to reason with her, she became more agitated and sometimes angry and combative.

“Why won’t you just leave me alone? Where is Thomas? What’s taking him so long?” she demanded once again as she grabbed a long winter coat and headed for the open door.

“Mom! It’s the middle of summer! This is your home! Thomas isn’t coming back. I’m your son. I can take care of you.”

“Don’t be a fool! I’m not your mother! Now let me out of here. THOMAS COME HERE! We need to leave right now!”

Struggling with the door, Mary ran toward the front door Peter had left open when he arrived. Unsteady and tripping on the doorstep, she rushed through the gates and fell against the limousine parked there.

Weak and faint, she sat on the pavement as her shoulders shook with deep noisy sobs of anger and dispair.

“Why does everybody have to be so mean to me? Where is Thomas? He was suppose to take me home,” she wailed over and over again.

Almost inperceptably, the back door to the limo opened and a hand reached out toward Mary. A sweet, calm voice spoke from inside.

“Are you going someplace? You can ride with me.”

“Oh! can I go with you? I don’t know what’s taking Thomas so long. Mother needs my help. Can you take me home.”

“Get right in. I’m going that way. I’ll drop you off.”

As Peter stood petrified with shock, the limo started driving slowly forward. This wasn’t the way it was suppose to be. He needed to make his mother understand that she was wrong. Thomas was gone. He was her son and she should let him take care of her.

The limo made a full circle of the compound, then returned to where Peter was still standing with his mouth open. This time the front passenger door opened. “Get in. We’re going home. You want to come?”

In the back of the limo, his mother leaned against the woman next to her. Already she looked more relaxed than he had seen her in many months! Samantha gave Peter a, “Shhhh” look and spoke gently to Mary.

“What is your mother’s name?”

“Her name is Abigail. She needs me to help with the new baby. I don’t know what’s taking Thomas so long to come get me.”

“Well, Thomas can meet us at your mother’s house. Now let’s see. Which way should we go to get to your home?”

“It’s next to the creek. There’s a big tree with a swing in the yard. Dad is working in the barn, but he’ll be expecting supper pretty soon.”

“Okay. We’ll be there in a little while. Why don’t you lean against me and close your eyes for a minute. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

And, in a few seconds, Mary was more quiet and peaceful than Peter could have ever imagined.

“See Peter this is the tip of the iceberg of what what we want to do at, “The Laughing Place”.