The Difference Mary Makes

This morning when I was afraid and praying I met Mary on the
path again. When I last saw her she was skeletal-thin,
her natural beauty obscured – all sharp angles under her skin.
That was more than thirty years ago, and so much has happened
in-between then and now.

I was interviewing her to write her story as she desired to tell it.
Taking my tape recorder once a week I listened and took notes
while she spoke. There were often long silences – the ticking of
the tape in time the only sound. My intention was to listen,
making way for her leading as time unscrolled between us.

She often lighted a cigarette, acknowledging it as comfort over and
above her husband’s concern. A non-smoker, I blessed the cigarette,
acknowledging it would be a miracle, not not smoking that could heal
her body. She was happy she was able to complete the design and
sewing of her daughter’s bridal gown – and attend the wedding.

In the silences the hope of her recovery was alive between us, an
unspoken alliance, a willingness to hope in the impossible and the
always next step. The last day we met she spoke out of a prolonged
silence – “Maybe it’s about courage.”
I wrote that in indelible ink in my heart along with her intrinsic
lovingkindness and trust.

We scheduled to meet after I returned from a new work assignment
that terrified me; also, my marriage was coming apart.

When I returned a few weeks later I learned that Mary’s funeral had
happened.
I did not listen to the tape
My marriage came apart
The work assignment was excruciating

Though I failed to write her story then as I intended, her words now
unscroll like a ticker-tape in my heart. When I am discouraged and/or
frightened by an avalanche of fears I remember Mary – and I think of
each Mary – at the cross and at the tomb and on the path to Emmaus and
by whatever-name with us in the everyday – their courage making of each
a light.

How alive Mary is to me when we meet, her beauty revealed
completely unobscured. This is how I tell her story written in words
after living it all these years.

*Shared I loving memory of my friend Mary Gallagher