There are so many things about… Mary
Quirky stories about Mary
When we first moved to the neighbourhood with two very young children in tow, I came to know our neighbour Mary. A stout, silvery-white hair woman in her late 40s. There are many things I couuld tell you about Mary. For a start, I used to observe Mary out of our tall glass windows from the upstairs bedroom of our detached house. With a newborn in my arms and irregular sleeping hours, you could say that I watched Mary quite often.
I brought Mary some cake last week. She was feeling quite harassed by the administrative processes around her terminal diagnosis. There are certain life changing objects acquired over the passage of time, for example, a pair of glasses, wheelchair, perhaps a pipe. This week, Mary is using her deceased father’s walking frame and she also acquired a wheelchair from a friend.
At first, I wasn’t looking forward to this week’s visit, somehow kind of dreading it. I am reminded of the book Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albion, and bawling my eyes out after reading it in my teenage years. Suddenly, my visits were beginning to feel like Wednesdays with Mary.
Mary has approached this whole phase of life with nerve-wrecking calmness, and a matter-of-factly demeanour, leaving me at times grasping and gasping at my trove of ghostly memories.
This week, she reminded me of our shared acquaintance, we shall call Wren.
Wren was our local carpenter who was earnest and hardworking… until he lost his finger mowing the lawn one day. I felt sorry for him, I did. I offered him some work around the house, which he promptly got to. He also had issues with his tenancy and his dog, Mea. Around the same time, Mary needed some help so I introduced Wren to Mary. A month later, I woke up one morning to the familiar blaring of Wren’s radio. I peeked out. Wren was fixing Mary’s roof. By the end of the month, he was crashing at her place, and not long after that, Wren and Mea moved in with Mary.
There are so many stories Mary could tell me… she had grown to love Mea over the years and when Wren moved out, he left Mea to Mary. Mary has a particular fondness for stay dogs like Nixon (she said the owneres found him difficult and dangerous and had to leave him behind when they moved on from their rental, but that’s another story for another day). She grew attached to Nixon, but had to give him up. Then came Mea. When Mea fell sick, she texted me. I can’t remember what I said at the time. After Mea passed, she had Mea buried at the end of her garden.
At this visit, Mary reminded me about the time Wren tried to kill himself. We had a good laugh. I asked her to tell me the story again. She had found him in his car with the hose in the car window. Not knowing what to do, she texted me, but I can’t remember what I said at the time.
‘What did you do’, I asked absent-mindedly.
‘I cut off the hose!’ She said. ‘I left him sittin’ in his car’
She left him staring into the abyss.
‘I told you it was too hard.’ I said.
‘It must be. He dragged the hose through the house when he could have gone round the side…’
We chatted about the logistical difficulties with such endings and other things. When it was time to go, I hugged her three times, not wanting to leave with the knowledge that coldest July would be coming… far too soon. She said I was becoming emotional.
Until next time dear Mary..
Maybe on a Wednesday…
Until then, I may still have Wren and Mary on my mind.
