The Love of a Mother

The Love of a Mother

“Mom, do you love me?”

“Michael...let me tell you a story.

‘The chief surgeon announces, “There was a massive fire at a hotel in St. Ann. We have a lot to do tonight. So operate with a calm mind, maybe utter a word of prayer before you begin and do your best. Let’s do this!”

‘Several bodies are coming into the hospital. Mrs. Margaret Worthy, some call her ‘the life saver,’ grabs one of the stretchers. With help, she places a young man on it. With wondering eyes, Margaret looks down at the patient’s face. One of the paramedics hands her the patient’s file. She looks at it.

‘With her heart seemingly falling from her chest, she says, “Jacob?” She looks at her assistants. “My son,” she says in despair, “didn’t I tell you to stay home? Why didn’t you listen to me?” Margaret begins to heavily cry as she’s rushing him to the operation room. “We are losing him! Heart rate is dropping fast!” She sighs. With everyone looking at her with long faces of concern, Margaret yells, “Focus! We need three compressions.” Everyone returns to working. “One!” signalling the first compression. “Two!” the second compression. “Three!” the third compression. His heart stops and so does Margaret’s. She kneels on the floor, her pale skin becoming red. With a single tear falling from each eye, she makes a long sigh in complete sadness as if she is about to enter somewhat of more than just a state of doldrums. “Jacob!” she screamed. Another surgeon walks by in time to hear and see Margaret. Dr. Wong walks into the operation room, lightly crying as she begins to experience her friend’s emotions. She knows that Margaret won’t be able to operate optimally after this.

‘She sighs. “Patient’s name: Jacob Worthy. Time of death: 2 a.m. Patient lost a lot of blood due to high degree burns all over his body, several splinters in his chest, leg and arms and exposed flesh on his abdomen. Send him to the morgue.” As she wrote the words, Margaret’s convulsive sobbing echoed the walls of the room.

‘Dr. Wong sits beside Margaret, speaks to her briefly and hands her a card from a therapist. Margaret sighs and takes the card.’

Michael’s mom checks the time.

“Michael, I am going to cut this story short or I will be late for a meeting today.

‘Margaret has been having sessions with the therapist ever since that day…for five years now. That’s how everything happened.”

Michael’s mom prepares herself and leaves home. She drives about fifty kilometres from her home to an office. There she greets Ms. Hathaway. Ms. Hathaway invites her in and they start talking. Michael’s mom expresses her sadness and how difficult it is living in the house in which she raised her son.

“I can see the memories like they happened yesterday. I get these thoughts and urges. I remember every sad and joyful moment.” Tears escape her eyes as she continues to express herself. She trembles vigorously and uncontrollably. With her cracking voice, she speaks. “He was seventeen years and five months. First it was his father and then him.”

“Have you ever heard of the term regression to the mean?” Ms. Hathaway asks.

“No, what is that?”

Ms. Hathaway replies, “It means that things cannot always be bad nor good. Things always average out. So whenever things get too bad...”

Michael’s mom finishes her sentence, “Things become good.”

Ms. Hathaway replies, “Regression to the mean.” Ms. Hathaway gives Ms. Roberts a warm hug to calm her nerves before she leaves. Ms. Roberts arrives home.

“I never got to finish the story. Let me start after her son died.”

‘It’s Margaret’s first Christmas without Jacob. She arrives at a party that Ms. Wong invited her to. Ms. Wong encourages her to meet new people, relax and have fun. After a few shots, a couple conversations and a few rounds of water and board games, she sits by the bartender’s counter. She sighs. Being a bit tired, but still conscious, she feels someone’s eyes peeling her skin. As she turns around, with his one hand out, “Hi, my name is Elijah. What’s yours?”

‘This was the beginning of a five-year relationship. Every now and again, Margaret looks at a picture of Jacob sitting on her night table. Every night she cries, but it gets a little softer. It is almost as if the power of love and the support she receives from her friend, therapist, new love and the thought of her being a mother again, are pushing her to be more open and more loving than she was when her son was alive.’

“Michael, to answer your question, I love you with all of my heart.”