Proverbial Woman, Chapter 4, Part 1

Looking up from his pad, before adding. “Okay. I read nearly three quarters of the book over the past few days. Since then I haven’t had the opportunity finish it. Without disclosing the ending, what can you say about the way it concludes? Meaning…what revelations should your readers expect to experience from its characters after they’d finished it, as they go to bed with it on our minds?”

“Well… In the midst of unfolding events the story begins to take on a life of its own. At that point it starts to address a fear that is considered a natural part of life. No one wants to be left alone to die. And it’s through our experiences with love and forgiveness that many of us come to understand time as either an ally or foe. In that sense, it is ultimately the choices we make that reveal how we choose to grow in love and in life. Often taking cues from family and friends that make of our inner circles. When things appear to go wrong in their lives, it is often we who find ourselves re-visiting lessons of our own past that once came about under similar circumstances. It is in the wake of these moments special bonds are established. You see it everyday with mothers and daughters. Especially when healing hearts transcends beyond love and discover the true source of their strength. Not to completely give away the ending, but sometimes the one who is perceived as the weaker one in a marriage or relationship, can often turn out to be the stronger of the two.”

“That is true. I can’t wait to get home and finish reading it,” he remarked, as he jotted down a few things. Peering above his frames as his head remained tilted and hovering over his pad. In a soft tone he asked, “In her final days, what was conversing with your mother like?”

“Some days were good. Others were bad. And then there were those that were beyond description. On the good days she would recall fond memories of their union as if they were poetic sonnets written by the world’s most romantic writers of centuries past. When she spoke her voice was subtle, and yet tender like the sweet, soothing sound of a Mandolin. I would sometimes lose myself in the course of her words, and the melody of her heart.

During those other times I would see in her eyes the pain of a dying love, as her illness would further incapacitate her.