Monday, November 9, 2009

"Through the Open Window" by Anne Faye, Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The power came back on Sunday, just in time for me to have to leave. I went to Church with my parents that morning. It was the first Sunday of Advent, the single lighted purple candle on the Advent wreath reminding us that it was time to prepare our hearts for Christmas. Fr. Farling gave a homily about focusing on the spiritual aspects of Christmas, rather than the material aspects, of taking the time to appreciate the value of waiting for someone special, a baby who had come to save us. I looked over at my mother. She was sitting there, hands folded, listening intently. She had always found such strength in her faith. Even now, she didn't seem scared of dying at all. She was taking it all in stride, like it was all part of God's big plan, and that everything would be OK. All I was feeling was that God's plan stunk. That was probably a really bad thing to be thinking in a church. I wish I had my mother's faith.

We had spent the remainder of the weekend ignoring the elephant in the room. We acted like everything was fine. My mother's diagnosis wasn't even mentioned. We finished hanging the decorations. Everything looked so festive, in direct contrast to the sinking feeling that would not leave the pit of my stomach. I could hardly bear to eat, but I forced the food down because my mother wanted me to. She wanted me to act like all was normal. The only acknowledgement that something was wrong was that my mother spent much of her time resting. I tried to take care of all of the household chores, so she wouldn't need to exert herself.

By the time I left for Springfield, I had made up my mind what I was going to do. There wasn't really any choice. I knew I had to come back to help my mother and father. If I didn't, I knew I would regret it forever and I couldn't live with it. The battery in my cell phone had died during the power outage and I hadn't had the chance to recharge it before I left. There was no way to know whether Mike had called or not. I guess I would just have to wait until I got home to find out.
It was November 30th, the last day of the month. My novel was nowhere near done. I hadn't even touched it during the past three days. It didn't seem very important any more. It had just been something to do, a pleasant diversion. It wasn't worth a hill of beans in the big scheme of things. I wondered if Mike had finished his. He probably had. No doubt he and the other members of the writing group would be going out to celebrate tonight. What was I going to say to him? To think I had actually been considering telling him that I was falling in love with him. It didn't much matter now. I was going to be three-hundred miles away. It didn't matter at all. I did have to tell him I was going, however. There was something I needed him to do.

Visit Anne Faye's blog at

No comments:

Post a Comment