Chapter 1 – A Mother's Love

A picture of St. Bernadette praying to the Virgin Mary hung forlornly on the bare wall of the room in the Little Sister's of the Poor hospice. A small Plaster of Paris figurine of the Sacred Heart was keeping vigil over his mother, next to a vase of freshly cut bloom chrysanthemums on the bedside cabinet.

Peter sat silently next to her, head bowed; repeatedly reciting the prayers she had taught him as a child. He stroked her frail hand, unconsciously tracing the narrow blue veins which protruded through her transparent skin. Peter wondered how long she had left. He knew it would be days rather than weeks. He'd ministered enough dying parishioners in the past five years to know the inevitability of his mother's illness. She was sleeping peacefully at the moment, aided by the recent shot of morphine. The rest of his family had taken the opportunity to go for a quick lunch; he'd eaten a hurriedly bought sandwich in the taxi on his way from the airport. Peter was grateful to be able to spend this time alone with her.

Mary opened her eyes slowly and watched him for several minutes, full of unconditional love. She hadn't seen her middle (and favourite) son for several months. It wasn't his fault, his vocation dictated where he lived and visits home were not allowed without good reason. Mary noted that Peter was still the spit and image of his father, her beloved Robert - from his tall, lanky frame to his long, slender fingers. Even the way he sat reminded her of her dead husband. Mary observed him meditating quietly. All through his life, Peter had always been at peace with himself, unlike his brothers, but now she could sense he was deeply troubled, something serious was eating away at his very soul. Mary grasped his hand as tightly as she could muster.

"Peter, love, what's wrong?" she murmured, her voice no more than a whisper.

Her lilting Teesside accent jolted him from his thoughts. His mother was dying, yet her concern, as ever, was still for him.

"Nothing, mum, I'm just tired, that's all."

"You can't fool me……" she continued matter of fact, looking Peter directly in the eye, "…….Tell me about her."

Peter was astonished at his mother's perception. He'd said nothing to anyone in his family about the crisis he had been suffering in the past three months or so. Yet he knew he shouldn't be that surprised - Mary had always been able to read him like an open book.

It was difficult at first. His vocation as a priest had brought his mother, a devout Roman Catholic, great joy. The last thing he wanted to do was to upset her, especially as this would probably be the last conversation they would ever have.

"I know what you are thinking, Peter," Mary uttered, interrupting his thoughts, "I love you. My only wish for you is to be happy."

Peter gradually opened up to her, encouraged not only by his mother's words, but by her tender smile and caring eyes. The more he spoke, the easier the words flowed. His mother was the first person Peter had been able to talk honestly to about Assumpta and he felt a huge weight lifting from his shoulders.

Mary watched as Peter's deep green eyes became animated as he spoke heartfelt about Assumpta – how his heart leapt when he saw her; how he couldn't get her out of his head; how he couldn't sleep because of her; how he felt empty when she wasn't there. Mary had seen that look before, in the same green eyes of her husband when he'd declared his love for her forty three years ago. She knew instinctively what Peter was feeling was real, not a whim or a crush, and at that moment she knew what she had to say to him.

"Peter, do you love Assumpta?" Mary asked clutching her beloved son's hand.

"Yes mum, I do. More than anything in the world," he replied without any hesitation.

Mary continued, "Does she love you?"

"I don't know…" Peter responded honestly, "……..I think she might. I've never told her how I feel."

"Well then you must tell her. You need to know how she feels about you. If she loves you as much as you say you love her, you'll know what you need to do."

Peter smiled appreciatively at his mother. She really was a very wise and compassionate woman.