Of Life, Love & Despair

Of hate & Love

 

Julianne Marguerite sat on the edge of her bed and dabbing her eyes with her tissue. She could not believe that after being gone over thirty years that her family was willing to throw her away again, rather than to settle issues of their past so that each could heal and move forward.

Of all the trials she faced, Julianne Marguerite found this to be the hardest to endure, because this was the one thing she wanted more than anything else in life…to be reunited with her family and to finally in peace be the family they should have been before her parents got involved in a four-way affair that lasted over 30 years.

With tears falling from her eyes that were stemming from her broken heart, Julianne Marguerite tried to rehash in her mind what had taken place less than an hour ago when her sister Aude’ had come for a brief visit. It was not a social call, but one that had to do with settling their mother Edith’s estate affairs. Edith had recently passed away and had not committed to all the arrangements that need to be done before one passes away. She left this for the children she left behind to deal with.

Aude’ had been left in charge of her estate and was now proportioning out to the siblings what Edith had wished for them to have as a memory of her. I kind of chuckled when she came to give me my share because money, or belonging were never what I wanted from Edith when I had reunited with the family after all my time away. I wanted a relationship with Edith. A mother-daughter relationship and one full of joys and memories that would be priceless in our hearts forever.

I stood holding the box of dishes, Edith had always promised she would pass on to me and even though these were very special to me…they were not what I wanted. I could not find any joy in receiving these, as I had not received what I always wanted most…a mother. I could not understand how Edith thought these few possessions she had left for me, or for any of the siblings for that matter, was going to allow them closure.

At this moment I was feeling anger. I was angry that she had not been woman enough to settle the past and undo the damage that weighed on each of our shoulders and ask forgiveness so that her children could have peace after her death that would allow an opportunity to draw the remaining siblings close together. A peaceful bonding did not happen, and instead Edith’s death pulled us further away.

As I sat on the edge of the bed, I wondered how things could have been different. If I had stayed away, maybe the closetful of memories that each of us carried in our mind’s attic may never have submerged from their dusty boxes. Clearly my coming home reopened the wounds caused by the years of lies and games played. Questions we had as children will remain unanswered as Edith; the last remaining member of the foursome wickedly took these secrets with her to her grave. This was cruel and I found myself cold. I grabbed the quilt on my bed and wrapped it around myself but I could not find warmth.

The only thing that would help me to have warmth would be the love a mother should have had for her children, the care and concern that came with loving them and the knowledge that undeniably let us know that her words were truth and spoken as if they had been written in stone. Instead…I only felt the coldness that was void of all warmth children should have been able to console themselves with when their mother, our mother died. I suddenly realized that a little part of each of us went to the grave with Edith. But the one who could have put a Band-Aid on our wounds with ointment to stimulate healing and kiss them to make them feel better would never do so. She had died. Tragically if there was any hope of uniting this too died with her. The family I had wished for…would never come to be.

  
About the author
Jeanne Claire Probst, Author and Poet, was born and raised in the New England state of Massachusetts, in the U.S.A, (in a small, Norman Rockwell-ish town in the Western portion). She began her slow-starting writing career in her early teen years. She is excited to be fulfilling a life-long dream of writing a novel of which “The Fifteen Houses, a Novel” is her first published work. Experiencing much free time in her retirement years, Jeanne has taken up writing and has just finished the first draft of her second book of the "Houses" Series, “Edith’s Houses.” While in the editing stages, Jeanne has rediscovered her first love, that of writing poetry. Living today amongst the stresses, trials and woes that we all face, has incited Jeanne to create the blog: “Thought and Poem,” and “Thoughts about Bullying and Poem,” which she shares with readers from all over the world on her Facebook Pages: jeanneclaire probst: , A Poem A Day, or The Fifteen Houses, A Novel – By Jeanne Claire Probst. She is also experimenting with her creative abilities and has recently begun writing short stories, of which she hopes many will enjoy. For more information about her book, please visit: www.wintertreeproductions.com.
  1. meerasrajan@gmail.com'

    This was so painful yet mysterious. I have a lot of questions of Edith too – as a reader. Yes, death is supposed to bring in closure but this one has obviously left a lot of open wounds… I like your writing and I hope to read more of it.

  2. jeanneprobst@gmaill.com'
    Jeanne Probst - Reply

    Thank you Mira. The second book of the “Houses” Series is actually about “Edith” and may probably answer many of the readers questions about her. The first book, The Fifteen Houses, a Novel just delivers a portion of each house…but in Edith….more answers will be revealed. Edith is in the editing stages and I am already starting on book no. 3…no title yet.

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