Kate Taliaferro
St. Thomas More Writing Group
Marie kept her eyes averted from the pews as she walked to the restrooms. It’s just something in my eye, she told herself, I just need a minute. I’m fine.
“I’m fine” had been the mantra of the past weeks. I’m fine, my daughter’s suffering is over. I’m fine, I have other kids and grandkids. I’m fine, it’s a relief not to see her in pain. I’m fine.
Marie caught the last few words of the Gospel, which pierced her sorrowful heart: “When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, behold, your son.’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘Behold, your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home.”
Through her tears, she noticed a young mother with three little children in tow behind her. Marie opened the door for them, and gestured to allow them to pass. As they walked, the mother was explaining that they all had to go for the baby’s diaper change because their dad was on his deployment. They were too young to be left alone in the pew.
***
The trip to the restrooms to deal with the diaper was thankfully quick, and Jenna was surprised she managed to hear a few words of the homily over her children’s chatter. Something about Mary being our mother and advocate. Rather than being inspired, it only reminded Jenna of how far away her own family lived.
In a blur of Cheerios and stickers, Mass ended. By the time the family got to the donut line, it was rather long. Jenna’s girls anxiously checked each person’s donut as they walked past, wondering if the precious sprinkle donuts would still be there. Their hopeful faces fell when it was finally their turn, no sprinkles left.
At that moment, the woman who had held the door for them earlier came out of the kitchen holding a donut box. She saw Jenna and smiled, saying, “Someone forgot to put out this last box. I wonder what kind of donuts are inside?”
Marie put the box on the table and opened it for the girls. Jenna wasn’t sure who was happier, the girls or herself. She did not have the energy for a meltdown.
Marie graciously offered to help carry the plates to the table. As they walked, she introduced herself to Jenna. “My name is Marie Stewart.”
“Jenna Johnson,” replied Jenna.
“I’m Nora! This is Grace and baby Caleb,” chimed in Jenna’s oldest daughter.
Jenna was surprised when Marie sat down with them. Marie easily placed Grace, a two-year-old, in a seat and passed Nora a napkin. The two girls smiled up at her and then set their sights on their donuts.
“How long have you been at the parish?” Marie asked Jenna.
“Only a few months. My husband, Mark, is deployed right now, so we aren’t very consistent.” Jenna ducked her head. She wondered why Marie was hanging around.
Marie nodded. “Your children are beautiful. They remind me of my own kids when they were little.” Marie smiled, though it seemed rather hollow.
“How many children do you have?” Jenna asked.
“Five, all grown now except . . .” Marie began, but paused and looked away. She took a deep breath and continued. “I have five children. Four are grown and married, my youngest recently passed away.” Her eyes began to shimmer with tears as she sat stiffly in the chair. Again, she looked at the girls licking the frosting from their donuts. Her face softened somewhat. “My daughter, Violet, had curly blonde hair, just like Grace.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jenna stammered, unsure what to say.
Marie looked over and, seeing Jenna’s discomfort, deftly shifted the conversation to lighter topics as the girls finished their donuts. While Jenna wiped the last remnants of frosting off Grace’s face, Marie said, “Have a good week. I know it’s hard, but hopefully I’ll see you next week.”
Jenna was surprised at the genuine comment. She was also a little worried. She had been seriously considering not coming to Mass next week. Now, was Marie going to be looking for her?
The week passed as usual. Meals, laundry, late nights, early mornings. Marie’s comment had been playing in the back of Jenna’s mind. She couldn’t let it go. She decided to give Mass one more week. She had survived last week after all. She would sit in the back again—easy access to the exits—and, hopefully, disturb the least number of people.
Walking into the church, Nora spotted Marie lighting a candle in one of the alcoves. This one had a large crucifix, with Mary, the mother of Jesus, and the apostle John at its base.
“Look, Mommy! Look! It’s the donut lady!” she shouted.
Jenna quickly tried to shush her, but Marie had heard Nora.
“Good morning, Jenna! How good to see you this morning. I was hoping to catch you.” Marie smiled at each of the children as she came over.
“I’m so sorry we interrupted you,” Jenna apologized.
“You’ve been on my mind. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but it seems like you could use some help in the pew. I remember when my two oldest were little. It’s not easy to get to Mass when the children are young, even when both parents are home. Would you mind if I sat with you today?”
Jenna didn’t quite know what to say. She had never had anyone offer this kind of generosity before. “I’m not sure you really want to. I mean, I barely hear what’s going on, much less have time to pray with everyone talking and moving around. Is that really the way you want to spend Mass? It’s so kind of you, but really, we are okay.”
Marie paused, considering. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “when people ask how I’m doing, I usually say I’m fine. Last week, maybe you didn’t notice, but it was a difficult day for me. That’s why I was leaving Mass when you were walking out. But sitting with you all after Mass was a delight and reminded me that even when life is hard, there are still things to be joyful about. I’ve realized this week that it’s okay to not be fine. And it’s good to share that with others. You were the first person I told about Violet who didn’t already know what happened. I don’t know why, but it made a difference for me.”
Jenna took in Marie’s words. She was touched by this woman’s openness. There was wisdom here, and courage. Jenna looked at her. “You’re right,” Jenna admitted. “I’m not okay either. Wow, that’s hard to say, but it’s true. It is so hard to get here, it is so hard to sit through this hour and feel like I’m getting nothing out of it.”
“Well, I can’t promise any miracles,” Marie chuckled, “but if you are open to it, let’s try sitting together today and see how it goes. Maybe we can help each other.”
“Okay, sure,” Jenna smiled. Marie took Nora’s hand. Together, they all walked into Mass.