The Pearls

“Patty, go to  your room!”
“I didn’t do it.”
“Patty!”
“Bobby broke the vase!”
“Patty!”
“Bobby is your favorite!”
I went to my bedroom.
Cried in my pillow. “I didn’t do it!”

As my crying eased, I felt the heat of anger rise. Grabbing a tissue from my dresser, I spotted a golden chain and soft shine of pearls. Mother left her pearls on my nightstand! Anger flowed to my hands, and I took those pearls and pulled them apart. It felt good.

I picked up Nancy Drew and started to read.

I couldn’t.

I looked over at the scattered pearls. Gently, I gathered them all and put them on my nightstand, covering them with a towel.

“Patty, you can come out now.”

Quickly I ran out of the room and outside. I knew there would be something terrible coming my way BUT if I could get outside…
Just get outside.
Some time passed and it was time to face the music. I quietly opened the back door. It was still. Bobby must be taking his nap. I tiptoed in and peeked into the living room. Mom was sitting there, crying softly. I could see she was holding the pearls.

Slowly, I backed outside and waited and waited.

“Patty, time for dinner.”

Mother never said a word about the pearls. NEVER.

Every Lent this is one of the first places I go to think about God in my life. It is a long ago memory realized after a lot of living.

Images of Jesus crying at Gethsemane. I get it.

Pat Pickett, OblSB

Photo by Svetlana B from Pexels