“That opportunity
didn’t last long. Roland and the head
elder argued constantly. It all comes
down to Roland’s inability to accept anyone else’s ideas. My father was the same way, so I guess I’ve
always thought that was just the way men were.
“Five years ago,
we moved to Maple
Village. Roland was hired as the mechanic at Wiley’s
Service Station on the west end of town.
A year ago, he became manager when Mr. Wiley wanted to begin wintering
in Arizona.
Isabelle took a
breath, and all Megan could think as the room filled with silence was no wonder Isabelle looks and acts as she
does. Megan felt both sympathy and
anger at this woman. Why hadn’t she just told her husband to go
to hell? Why did she put up with his
crap? Can you really love someone like
that? Instead, she said, “Isabelle,
you’ve really traveled a journey.
Unfortunately, it sounds more like something out of the 19th century! I’m sorry, please don’t be offended, but….”
“Megan,” Isabelle
responded in a gentle tone, “I’m not offended.
In fact, I’m just coming to a bend in the journey you referred to.” An almost conspiratorial smile came across
her face.
“Eight months
ago, my mother died. The doctors
diagnosed her with cancer and within a month, she was dead. As sad as I felt, I knew Mother’s life had
not been easy, and I am thankful she can be at peace.
“I went home to
pack up my Mother’s things—my Dad has Alzheimer’s and is in a nursing home in a
little town in Texas. Six months ago, I was finally able to sit
down and go through Mother’s things. I
have only one box, but I wanted to find out more about Mother and the life she
had with my father. Among some old papers I pulled out an envelope. It
stuck out from the rest because of its whiteness—it was new. I hadn’t noticed it when I packed the box, so
I opened it and found a letter from my mother written three weeks before she
died.”
Megan felt her stomach
lurch. She could feel an emotional pull
though she still didn’t know why Isabelle sat in her living room telling her
story.
Isabelle sighed
loudly and went on, “I brought it if you want me to read it.”
Megan looked at
Diane who smiled. Her eyes went back to
Isabelle who was obviously waiting for a reply.
“Yes, please, I would like you to read it.”
“My dear sweet daughter, Isabelle,” she began with an obvious catch in her throat. “I am writing to you because a week ago I found out that I have pancreatic cancer, and the doctor says I will go quickly because it’s too late for treatment. I am at peace, Isabelle. When you read this letter, I don’t know where I’ll be, but I am not afraid.
“What I must say
to you my wonderful daughter is that I am so sorry. I have not been the role model for you that I
needed to be. When I was a child, my
mother taught me to cook good meals, keep my family’s clothes clean and
pressed, scrub my house from top to bottom, and discipline my children. But first and foremost it was my
responsibility to keep my husband happy through my submission and devotion to
him. That’s all the information I came
into marriage with. And because of your
father’s occupation, I followed those rules to present myself as I should to
his congregants and to my children. In strict
religious systems, news of the outside world, or even thinking inside one’s world is not encouraged, especially among the
women. So here I am at 70 years old,
wishing every day that I had something else to leave you. Because, I fear, I left you nothing more than
my mother left me.
“When you were
sick in Belize
and the bush doctor healed you, I began getting a tiny glimpse of a bigger
world than just our belief system. I
tried to talk to people, to ask questions such as, what about other religious
traditions in the world—don’t they have a part in God’s kingdom? One woman was so bold as to do her duty by telling your father that
I was asking inappropriate questions for a pastor’s wife.
“When I came to
visit you when Roland was ill in Texas,
I could see your life was going to be a duplicate of mine. You were living out the role I had presented
to you. My heart ached for the life you
lived. But I didn’t know how to talk to
you. If I didn’t have the courage to
walk away, how could I ever hope that with two small children, you could leave
yours?
“I cannot die,
Isabelle, without telling you some things I’ve come to believe. Though I have not acted on this knowledge, in
some sense it may be my intuition I’ve come to trust.
“Isabelle, if
there is a God—don’t be shocked that I make such a statement—I believe it is
not a ‘he.’ Are you shocked
further? I do believe in some kind of
transcendent power—a Spirit, an Energy, but not the old man with the beard who tries
to tell us all, through male preachers, that we have no choice but to be sinners
because we are descendants of Adam and Eve--and, above all, women are to be submissive, to the point of
subservience, to men.” When Isabelle lifted
her head from reading, her face glowed.
Her smile radiated from ear to ear and for the first time, Megan saw a beautiful
woman.
She lowered her
head to continue, “I wasted my life believing in everything but myself. It would be easy to blame your father or my parents, but blame only makes the list very long. Instead, I look at culture and women’s place
within society and old interpretations of scripture that have not been
contextualized—particularly in the belief systems we’ve been a part of. Blame is not the answer.
“Isabelle, even
as I face death, I want to encourage you to find your way, learn who
you are, role model something different for your children than I role modeled
for you.
“When you were a
little girl, I sensed your intelligence from infancy. I know you still possess it, but you may need
to dig around to find it. You’ll require
support along this journey of knowing who you are. It
will be painful. Where your future takes
you will depend upon decisions you have the courage to make.
“Isabelle, I'm
tired now. I love you, I will love you even in death. As I take my last breath, it will be to send
you courage.” Isabelle choked on the
last words. Slowly she raised her head
and looked first to Diane and then to Megan.
Again her face glowed as tears slowly fell on her cheeks.
The three sat is
silence for a couple of minutes. No one
wanted to contaminate the air with words.
Megan looked out the window to see the top of Mrs. Elsworth’s grove of
trees. Only a few stubborn gold leaves
continued to cling to the branches. A
gray fog drew in a thickness that bordered on claustrophobic. And at that moment she felt a connection with
the gloom of the afternoon.
Diane spoke
first. “Isabelle, I feel like we’ve been
brought to the edge of a precipice. I’m
looking over the edge of a steep hill with many paths down the craggy
side.” She stopped and took a breath.
“I know,
Diane. I’ve spent the last few months
trying to decide what lay ahead for me.”
Isabelle hesitated. “But first I
need to tell you both why I’m even talking to you about all this.”
Megan stole a glance toward Diane. She felt intimacy in a palpable way—a creamy
silk length of cloth with ragged edges hovered around them—she knew she could touch it if she
raised her hand.
“About a week after I read my mother’s
letter,” Isabelle spoke again, “I was at Albertson’s when I heard the two of you
talking excitedly at the other end of the aisle. I
admit I eavesdropped. I can’t even tell
you now what you were talking about, but what caught my attention was your
excitement. There was an energy coming
from both of you. Something foreign to
me—yet so appealing. You two must be
close to my age. Look at me. People have suggested that I’m as old as Roland!”
Megan hoped her internal affirmation of
Isabelle’s words didn’t show on her face.
“I’ve heard enough gossip from church
members to know that you’ve both had sadness in your lives, but look at you—you
are alive and vibrant!” Isabelle took a
deep breath and continued. “I heard
about the book club and decided to go. Then
the book you spoke about tipped the scales—I knew it was important to connect
with you. This is not like me. I don’t understand my courage.”
“Go ahead, Isabelle. Tell us what we can do for you,” Megan wasn’t
sure what part she might play.
“OK, I need friends. I need to find a new reality. I don’t know what this will mean for my life,
my marriage, my family. The only thing I’m
sure of is that I will die if I continue life as I have been living. I’ve never really had close friends. Roland never wanted me to. And the only women I knew were members of our
churches. Diane and Megan, I’m asking if
you will be my friends.”
Megan and Diane looked at one another, so
touched and feeling so humble. Tears ran
down their cheeks.
Diane spoke first. “I’d be honored, Isabelle.”
“And I will as well,” responded Megan. “But I have to add, I’m not your husband’s
favorite person. What will he think
about your new friends?”
Isabelle tried to smile. She spoke slowly but with determination,
“This is about me and decisions I must make. I’ll just have to take one day at
a time.”
Megan glanced at her watch. They’d been together for an hour and a
half. She needed to get down to the shop
so Chris could have a break.
Isabelle spoke up. “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted!” The three laughed.
Diane jumped up and said, “I don’t know
about you, but I need a hug!” They
laughed again—the comic relief came at just the right moment.
To be continued...
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