My Name is Mary

2014 | Sarasota, Florida

Grace

If you don’t believe in grace…

I had finally done it. Sold my things. Bought the one-way ticket. I was heading to St Lucia.

Mom had been gone a year. I had told my family after she passed that I would be heading out of the US again by the year’s end. To help them prepare for my departure. 

The early morning I was set to fly had snow warnings at JFK airport. At some point this morning the snow would come, and how long it would blanket things for, we didn’t know.

Determined that nothing would stop me, I got to the checkout line. Plenty of warning signs of mosquito borne Zika virus and dengue fever fill the waiting space. Just in case you were on the fence about going. 

At the check-in counter,  I popped my suitcase on the scale.

“Your return flight? When is that?”

Ehhhhh. I didn’t have one. I was leaving. That’s all I knew.

“No, mam. You are required to show proof of a return flight within three months of arrival. We cannot let you board the plane without it.”

I absolutely did not have the money for a flight. I had about $300 in my bank account and enough JetBlue points to get a flight home. When I was ready.

I saw my precious sweet dream of finally leaving go down the drain. It was a year of grief and heartbreak and blessings but I was tired. And I needed to flee to something else. Something new.

Something not this. This lifestyle culture of things was not for me. I went reluctantly to a seat and made a call to Jet Blue to buy a ticket for when, I didn’t know. How was I supposed to do that?

In normal circumstances, this might seem a simple task. But I was overwhelmed, exhausted. And desperately needing beauty.

The representative answered. This kind woman. “Let’s see what we can find for you in this three month window that your points will cover.”

We spoke on the phone a bit. The snow outside starting to fall. Would I ever get on this plane?

I was at tears point. And I think she could hear it. This departure for me was for me. My Mom, whose name was Mary, had had dementia and the past five years were a sad series of watching her change. The night before she had the stroke that finally helped her leave, we had spoken on the phone and laughed. She had asked me in our brief conversation how the boys were.

As usual, I would tell her, “Mom, I will check with Liz. She’s the one with the boys.” I had learned not to tell her she’s wrong. Not to sound frustrated. Just to accept where her beautiful mind was so it didn’t discourage her. Not correct her to try to show her the coherent facts.

“No dear. I don’t mean her boys. I mean yours.”

And then we started to laugh.

“Mom!”

“Well...” she chuckled. She was having a moment of coherency, of knowing who she was talking to and we laughed! I couldn’t believe it.

That was our last conversation and I was lucky for that. The next morning I received my brother-in-law‘s call while I was teaching at school.

“Hi, Chris. Listen, Granny’s had a stroke...”

And with that, my world started to crumble. 

Remembering this in the airport as I toyed with mom‘s soft velvet jacket she gave me, the star on the zipper. These days, crying was the norm. I missed her so much. My mom, Mary Elizabeth, had always supported my unusual ways.

“You know, honey. I think you’ve got this figured out…” she said to me once on the phone. “This. Life.”

“OK, dear. We have a flight on this date. But let me explain. You have 24 hours to cancel and receive all of your points back. There is a $6.14 fee which does not get refunded, but the points will all go back in your bank.”

I started to cry.

I started to tell her about my year. About how much this means to me. About my incredible gratitude.

She listened. “Go get your flight, dear.”

She was unusually warm and loving. And my heart needed it more than she knew. I looked out the window and the sky was getting grayer and grayer.

St Lucia, here I come.

“Thank you. You have been such a gift to me. What is your name by the way?”

“Mary. My name is Mary.

Have a beautiful flight, Dear.”

I savored her last words and took them through the gate to my seat.

My name is Mary.