Our Lady of Wherever She is Needed
by Lindsey Fedyk
It has been a day. Sibling squabbles, patience lost and nowhere to be found again, an entire bowl of oatmeal knocked off the kitchen table. Maple syrup doused grains that missed my quick wipe down are surely now cemented to the floor. The entire downstairs is a wreck and as I try to put some toys away, my son whines for another snack. His request is the straw that breaks my back. A response quickly rises to my lips, dripping with sarcasm and insensitivity.
“Mary, give me your heart,” I whisper – half prayer, half attempt at mustering words, any words, that won’t need to be whispered in a confessional...again. The sensory overload of motherhood – the hanging off my leg, the squeals of frustration, the squeals of joy, the parade of questions, the primary-colored mess – it can all so often conquer me and hinder my composure.
I cover my face with my hands and sit on the floor. Shame and anger floods me as tears brim in my eyes. Motherhood wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Where is my delight? Why is my patience so easily lost? Am I cut out for this?
And Our Lady of the Playroom Floor sits next to me, unbothered by the crumb-filled carpet and Playmobil figurines scattered among the Hot Wheels. I feel her love and His strength cover me, restore me.
I feel a hand tapping my head. “Mama, what are you doing hiding like that?”
I take a deep breath, uncover my face, and look up to smile at my son. “Another snack? You sure are one hungry hippo!” He giggles as I tickle his belly. And just like that the mood is lighter, the mess seems manageable, the day is His again.
She goes where she is needed.
///
I wake up as the machine begins to move me back, its gentle whirring has put me to sleep again. The scene of a tropical island, strategically and thoughtfully placed among the white ceiling tiles to promote serenity for the person being sucked into the tiny tube, comes into focus. I have become very familiar with cat naps in machines and ceiling tiles of tranquility since my cancer diagnosis.
“Had a good nap?” The nuclear medicine technician jokes with me. I groggily smile and wait for her to unstrap the belt securing me in.
“Alright, after you gather your belongings, you can go back and sit in the waiting room. We will call you back in when the doctor is ready to discuss results. It could be a while; we are pretty backed up today.”
I find a chair in the corner. The waiting room is filled with patients awaiting tests, consults, or news of some kind. It is quiet here, only stifled coughs and the sound of Whoopi Goldberg and her friends on The View permeates the collective silence.
Nothing to do but wait, I think to myself. I attempt continuing to pray the rosary I fell asleep to in the scanning machine, but my mind keeps wandering between people watching and fixating on the impending results. Is the cancer gone?
I open my book, read one paragraph, and shut it again. Even Mr. Collin’s proposal to Elizabeth Bennet is not enough to distract me from my own little agony in the garden.
Next, I choose the gold star of terrible choices and begin to Google. After wasting four minutes reading Thyroid Cancer literature, I put my phone away and try to sit in the silence of the talk show.
My mind wanders to the brink of worst-case scenarios. I look at my feet and run my finger along the beige and navy pattern on the waiting room chair. I am so scared of going through this again. So upset that my children might have to deal with this more. Help me, Mother Mary.
And Our Lady of the Waiting Room comes to sit on the patterned chair next to me and a psalm is silently sung between our hearts.
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
And let all that is within me bless His holy name.
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
And forget not all His benefits.
He forgives all your iniquities,
He heals all your diseases.
He redeems your life from corruption,
He crowns you with mercy and compassion.
Compassionate and merciful Is the Lord,
Long-suffering and Abounding in mercy.
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
And let all that is Within me bless His holy name.
Blessed are You, O Lord.
We wait and wait together under the florescent lights– she quietly brings my prayers to her Son, His peace overcomes me.
“Mrs. Fedyk, you can come on back,” the nurse calls from the waiting room door. I stand up and a prayer comes to my lips. Whatever the news, Blessed are You, O Lord.
She goes where she is needed.
///
The Blessed Mother is everywhere if you look for her. A cove in a small town of France. A hill in Mexico. I have found her in the first rose bloom in our garden, a hug from a dear friend, a thoughtful meal left by our front door, in the labor and delivery room. She comes in big ways and small ways, in the greatest joys and the darkest sorrows, and she is always, always where she is needed to bring her children closer to her Son. The moment I begin to waver or wander, I know the gentle love of a mother is waiting to help me on the path toward goodness. I only have to take her hand, and she will lead me to the One who loves me.
///
The entire house is quiet, except the labored breathing of my daughter and the creaking of the rocking chair. Her body fits perfectly into mine as we rock together. Her fever is high, her cough is fierce. Our rocking brings me back and forth, swaying between intense observation for stridor breathing and succumbing to sleep.
An hour goes by and while her cough has calmed, she whimpers pitifully from the discomfort of fever, croup, and exhaustion. I do nothing because I have nothing left to give. I am so tired of being tired, I think to myself. How many more years until I can have reliable sleep, Lord? Give me your constancy, Blessed Mother. Help me to be where I am needed.
Her whimpers turn to cries, and I bring her closer to my chest and start singing. Salve Regina, mater misericordia… The prayer soothes her, and me. In the dark of the nursery, Our Lady of the Midnight Shift comes and keeps vigil with us. A peace fills the room. I take notice of this moment – the raspy whispers of a prayer and the creaks of my grandmother’s rocking chair entwining in a melody of praise, the weight of a toddler in my lap and a pudgy hand at my heart, the sudden consciousness that these long days and longer nights are fleeting and refining and sacred. A moment of frustration – purified, transformed – into a moment of communion.
She goes where she is needed.
So beautiful, Lindsey!