“Hello! Mom, are you home?” Cynthia shouted as she returned from the church.
No one answered, but there was a shuffling sound coming from the rear of the house. Not a threatening sound, yet it was alarming given that the door was open and no one was around. Cynthia Mba walked through the living room, turning on the light as she entered.
Mary Mba was sitting on the floor, a pair of antique doll in her lap. She didn’t look up immediately, and when she did, she seemed startled, like a sheep caught in the glare of oncoming headlights.
“Mom?” Cynthia said, a muscle fluttering in her neck.
“Aren’t they just lovely?” she asked, her voice softer than it normally tended to be. “They don’t make dolls like these anymore, you know. I’ll have to hide them, or your dad might break them. He’s always so angry. I don’t understand why he’s so angry these days.”
A chill of foreboding crept along Cynthia’s spine. “Daddy is dead, mom. Don’t you remember?”
When her husband died she wept ceaselessly. She couldn’t be consoled. She had not only lost a husband but her best friend, confidant, protector, provider and reliable man. She wished they died the same day. In order to be able to continue to live, she had made herself to belief that he was still alive, probably on a long journey from which he would eventually return.
She made a move to rise, and Cynthia reached out to help her. “Mom, is everything all right? No one’s out in front, and the door was opened.”
“Good heavens! What time is it? I’d better hurry and get dinner ready before your father returns from the office.”
Cynthia drew a deep breath and, reaching out, took her mother’s hand. “I told you that daddy is dead.”
“I’m so sorry, dear. I’m dreadfully sorry. I just don’t want to believe he’s actually gone forever. Forgive me.”
Cynthia tightened the grip on her mother’s hand with her left, patting it gently with her right in an effort to calm her. “There’s nothing to forgive. Nothing at all.”
Cynthia moved into the living room and switched the television on with the remote to listen to the news. “Marriage is a commitment involving two people who choose to be deeply dependent on each other. Marriage is a chosen act –a process involving a person’s will and desire. Oneness between a husband and wife is a process that happens over a period of time. Becoming one can be a very hard process. It is not easy to change from being independent and self-centered to sharing aspect of your life with another person. But this is what Mr. and Mrs. Mba had achieved but Mr. Mba departed this world. They married when they were in their 20s and remained happily married till Mr. Mba dies a fortnight ago. He died at the ripe age of 95 years and they were married for 73 years. They actually practiced God’s injunction of “Till death do us.” We want to express our profound condolences to Mrs. Mba, his widow and their daughter, Cynthia Mba, who is our staff on the dead of her beloved father. May his soul rest in peace.”
As she listened to the news, Mrs. Roberta James came in. “How are you Cynthia? Where is your mother?”
“She has retired to her bedroom.”
Mary had retired to her bedroom, but was unable to rest. Above their quiet conversation, the sound of footsteps, on the floor could be heard –forward and backward, forward and backward –a short pause, and forward and backward.
Mrs. James gaze drifted toward the bedroom door. Cynthia could tell she was worried. “Did you speak to her about this?”
“I tried. Cynthia sighed. “She assured me she’s fine, but I can tell the death of my father has depressed her. If you could have seen the look on her face when I found her, you’ll understand what I mean. I’ve never seen her like that.” She stopped, unwilling to add her own concerns to Mrs. James’. Mrs. James had been Mary’s friend for over ten years.
“I have seen it, child. My own mother’s mind got weak after my father’s death. It was hard thing to live with, and I had my sisters to share the burden, and to cry with. You’re all alone in this, aren’t you?”
“I’m fine, really. What she didn’t say was that she was shaken. Her mother had always been the one steady force in her life. Her safety net. No matter what happened, no matter how bad things become, her mother was there to support her, to give advice, and love, and the thought of her present condition was terrifying.
“Don’t you go trying to sweep this under the carpet? You better take her to see a doctor,” Mrs. James advised.
“Tomorrow,” Cynthia said, hugging Mrs. James. “Thank you for being here. I appreciate it, and I know she does, too.”
“What are old friends for?” Mrs. James said with a sad smile. “Listen, don’t to see a doctor, tomorrow.”
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