This is fiction. It is inspired by a prompt from
for Flash Fiction Friday. I still have 45 minutes before it isn’t Friday anymore. I’ve been pondering Advent these days, so while this is speculative fiction, it leans more toward the sacred than the horror. I hope you like it.They told her time would heal her broken heart, but she knew better. Every year, about this same time, the presence returned. After two decades, she anticipated the first glimmer of light that passed by announcing the beginning of the season. The sadness started immediately and only intensified for the four weeks that followed.
She was ready for it this year. She had prepared in advance for the crushing ache of loss by surrounding herself with the people who made her happiest. Her husband was gone, but her daughters were not far away and they promised to bring the grandchildren daily as long as she needed them. She lived with her adopted son, John, and his granddaughter, and the more children in her world, the more she was able to forget the sword that pierced her soul, at least for a portion of the day. Her daughters-in-law also planned to bring their boys after school. She looked forward to their energy and to the way they left her utterly exhausted.
She made plans beyond the daily routines. Even though everything was increasingly expensive and money didn't buy nearly what it used to, she had managed to save a little every week from her work specifically for these weeks. She would bake with the littles and build with the boys. She had become quite adept with some of her late husband's smaller woodworking tools, and the boys were quick learners. This year she thought about teaching them to make and polish cups they could use at home. She had scavenged wood from the groves and she was confident she had enough for trial and error and eventual success. She was prepared to beat back the agony of her broken heart this time.
The presence still caught her by surprise. One moment she was walking home in the twilight hours and the next she was wracked by the memory of twenty years before. The presence, usually revealing itself in short glimpses first, almost like the first pangs of the labor she so vividly remembered. This year, however, the presence nearly blinded her with its vibrant energy. She stumbled, doubled over by both the light that only she could see and the searing heat of her heart breaking again, just as powerfully as the first time. She made her way home, to her room, and to her bed. John peeked in and knew the presence was back. He could not see it, but he knew in his heart what it was, who it was, and what it meant.
John suffered, too. He was attuned to her emotions, more so than to his own mother and even the emotions of his wife when she was alive. When this woman whom he had cared for since the day hurt, he hurt with her. Her broken heart broke his. He, however, was able to put aside his own suffering in order to make sure she was not overwhelmed by her sorrow when the presence appeared. He pulled the blanket up to her shoulders and kissed her forehead before sending word to her daughters and daughters-in-law. They would bring the children, and she would rebound, he hoped.
Night passed, and the morning light woke her. She recalled the vivid appearance of the presence the evening before and winced at the pang of heart break again. She stood to walk outside hoping to absorb some of the early sunshine, knowing John had gone to fetch the children and their sunny hearts would be a balm to her broken one. She smiled at the thought of those beautiful grandbabies whom she loved so dearly. And she knew they loved her.
She knew she was loved by so many and she loved deeply in return. Even in the throes of her annual despair, she recognized that she was truly blessed with family and friends who cared for her. She whispered a prayer of gratitude in that moment, and felt the burden of her heart lift, just a little. She felt the presence then in a way she had never experienced before. It was warm, like a spring breeze, and smelled of lilies. Her heart began to mend; she sensed the healing and basked in it. This was new. Her mind released all the moments of sorrow and the joyful things she had treasured in her heart rose to the surface.
She sat down under her favorite tree, a twisting olive tree, older than the town and curved into a shape that cradled her body perfectly. Something was new and different in her. The presence was near, a warm light, not the blinding vision of before. She turned to face the light, no longer afraid of what she might see and no longer afraid of any pain that might come.
She saw his hand first. A hand she knew well. She had washed that hand when it was small and she had covered that hand in spices before it was wrapped on the worst day of her life. She had seen that hand again before it again left her. His hand reached out to her and she took it. Then she saw his eyes and knew. Her son had come. His presence was not a reminder that he was gone, but rather an invitation to go with him. Her heart, fully healed, leapt as she followed him home.
John, looking for her to help prepare for the children's arrival, found her sitting in her favorite place, a smile on her lips, a glow around her face. She looked asleep, in the middle of the most beautiful dream. His eyes denied what his heart already knew. Mary was gone, reunited with her son, forever in the presence of her Lord. No longer afraid, but fully at peace.
I am sorry for your loss and glad this story could bring you warmth and peace.
Beautiful Stephanie, just beautiful. I’m thinking now about my mother in law who we lost earlier this year before my son was born. I feel this warmth, thank you.