Hello!
I was originally planning a happier story, however this has been on my mind now for some time. The happier story will come after this one. It has been sad to write, but JF didn't want to end the show where he planned and wanted it to go on, assuming everyone would be on board with him. So this happened.
This is essentially a series of vignettes that explores Mary's journey towards moving on and each chapter will be a different time period, so please bear with me :) All dates are based on the time period after Matthew's death.
Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey. But if I did, I would have ended it at series 3 where it was supposed to end.
1 Week Later...
Mary held the pillow tightly in her arms as she fervently prayed for sleep to claim her. She lay in her usual position on the bed, her arm draped over the extra pillow, which now acted as Matthew, who was no longer there. Anna had kindly granted her this new pillow, without question, and never commented on how each morning she found Mary wrapped tightly around it, like a child refusing to part from its favourite toy.
But it was forever cold, however much she tried to create warmth. Everything was cold now.
She hated the nights particularly. The days were already extremely painful, but the nights were excruciatingly so; when she felt his loss the most. That was their time; when they could be alone without interruption. When they could enjoy one another and take pleasure in the other's company, in all ways that mattered; sometimes with words, sometimes without. Words were not always a requirement.
They had become quite skilled at communicating without them.
Mary had desperately hoped that imagining his presence beside her would console her aching heart. But it was futile. She couldn't see him, no matter how hard she tried. It only resulted in more anger that he was lost to her for good. Anger which swiftly led to despair and caused her body to erupt in fierce sobs.
Why couldn't she see him? Matthew Crawley was never far from her thoughts and imaginings when he was alive, but it seemed that in death, he really had been taken away from her in every form. All but one: their son.
Her little boy, who really was the light of her darkness.
The words from her father a week ago still repeated endlessly in her ears; hollow sounds that would forever haunt her.
He's gone.
She could hardly breathe. She stared at her father for the longest time, frozen, until she ordered to be left alone when no one would tell her anything otherwise.
Even now her breath would catch as her heart thumped erratically as she remembered the fear and panic that overtook her as the words and all they meant sunk in. How her body convulsed beyond her control and she swallowed the intense waves of emotions that threatened to overtake her.
She demanded her baby and leapt from her hospital bed, determined to see the body of her husband. People argued and attempted to placate her as she strode fiercely down the corridor, baby in arms, and insisted on being shown to his room.
No pain was worse than the pain in her heart.
Pausing to compose herself, Mary carefully placed her hand on the door in front of her. A prayer subconsciously formed in her mind, but she welcomed it. She needed it. Moving forwards, she tentatively pushed the door open, and her heart stopped when she saw Isobel Crawley, desolate and distraught, sitting by her son's bedside, stroking his hair.
Mary quietly closed the door behind her and stood there, holding her own precious child close to her heart as she watched Isobel cradle hers.
"I won't be long my dear," Isobel sniffed, wiping her eyes and nose with a handkerchief.
"No Isobel, really. Take your time with him." But the words sounded distant even to her own ears.
Everything else was a blur. Memories to be relived another day.
The baby fidgeted in her arms, the only sign of life in the lifeless room.
New life: a reminder that life still goes on, no matter what happens. However painful it may be.
Mary buried herself further into the bed, as deep as she could go, and nestled her face into the pillow.
But it was still no use.
The pillow wasn't nuzzling her face in return, nor was it wrapping its arms comfortingly and protectively around her. She would never feel his arms about her again. Never hear his breathing as he slept. His slight discomfort as he fought off a nightmare whilst she soothed him back to sleep. His lips on hers and other parts of her as they bid each other goodnight and feeling him caress her in the early hours of the morning, knowing that daylight would force them out of their safe haven.
Never again.
Now there was no safe haven. No comforting retreat. No husband to take her in her arms and love her the way no one else could. No one to talk to, communicate with or banter with in the special way that was uniquely theirs.
Following his body down the aisle, she had never felt more alone. Eyes studied her from all sides, but she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of acknowledgement, regardless of their purpose and intention. She was there for one person only.
As his body was lowered deep into the ground, she felt an indescribable pain, and an unbearable urge to suddenly be alone with him. The cruel irony threatened to break her even more. The further he drifted away from her, the more she was losing of herself.
She had lost a significant part of her; the part of her which flourished and nurtured her whole being.
The part which combined Lady Mary Crawley and Mary Crawley and allowed them to live and work in tandem, and be loved all the same.
He knew a part of her which no one else did; a part which she did not voluntarily allow him to access, but he did anyway. Matthew Crawley was in love with every part of her; every strength and every flaw, and she loved him so very much for that and for everything he was.
As the darkness remained, Mary let the tears fall freely now, still struggling to come to terms with her severe loss.
She knew what she had to do next. But she needed strength first.
She prayed.
TBC...