A Night To Remember

Thanksgiving was always Mary’s favourite time of the year. 

As she prepped the table for everyone’s arrival, she looked out the front window and took note of how beautiful the trees looked; all auburn and yellow. Smiling to herself, she laid the knives and forks down, tucked white napkins under the china plates, and carefully placed wine glasses at every seat. 

This was also the first Thanksgiving that her son’s girlfriend, Rosanne, would be joining them for. 

The oven beeped, and Mary took the turkey out. It smelled delicious, and she could feel her mouth watering. There were also steamed carrots coated in brown sugar, stuffing, and Mary’s son’s favourite; garlic mashed potatoes. 

She’d just finished covering the turkey in foil when the doorbell rang. 

It was Uncle Dale and Aunt Susan. Soon after came Cousin Richard and Second-Cousin Patrick. Grandma and Grandpa. Pete and Melinda. The Jeffersons. Everyone was coming over tonight, and Mary knew that it would be a night to remember. 

II

The guests had all taken their seats by the time 7pm rolled around, but Mary’s son and Rosanne were nowhere to be found. She tried calling them, but to no avail. She encouraged everyone to eat, lest the food go cold. Second-Cousin Patrick began digging in to the turkey, passing it along to Uncle Dale, while Grandma and one of the Jeffersons caught up with each other over this and that. 

It was around 7:30 when Mary began to grow worried. Everyone was laughing, having a good time, feasting on the delicious meal in front of them, while her stomach churned and her mouth went dry. It wasn’t like her son to be late, and even less like him to not call and let her know where he was. 

She excused herself from the table, and went to the bathroom. 

Sitting on the toilet, she pulled her phone out and sent another text. Where or where could he be? Suddenly, the sound of glass smashing against hardwood floor broke her train of thought, and she clambered out of the bathroom to find Uncle Dale drunk off his rocker, apologizing profusely for dropping his wine glass on the way to refill it.

She sighed, and grabbed the broom. Uncle Dale kept offering to clean it up, but judging by the way he was swaying she had a feeling she’d be cleaning him up in no less than a couple of hours. 

She threw the glass shards away and then took her seat back at the table. Still not hungry, she forced herself to put some potatoes and turkey on her plate so others didn’t sense the growing worry caught in her throat. 

III 

8:30 came, and by this point dinner was finished and everyone was lounging about in the living room. The TV was on; Forrest Gump was playing. Forrest had just started his cross-country run when Uncle Dale dropped something again; this time the remote. It bounced off the corner of the table and struck the “channel down” button. The news popped on the screen, and to Mary’s horror, the face of the man she loved more than anything: her son.

Theodore Wilson. Dead. 32. 

She dropped to her knees, and after a few of the longest, most excruciating moments of her life, began to wail. 

The rest of the family stood there in silent shock. 

Rosanne had survived but was airlifted in critical condition; there was a blade of metal sticking out of her gut. Theodore, meanwhile, had broken his neck. It was a tractor trailer, they said. Running at 30mph over the speed limit, they said.

It happened instantly.

But for Mary, it happened for the rest of her life. 

IV 

The funeral was somber. Rain pitter-pattered on the black umbrellas carried by everyone. Grandpa burst into tears, and Grandma gently rubbed his arm while she cried herself.

Mary stood at the back of the ceremony, all clad in black. She was unable to accept, nay, unable to comprehend what was happening. Her baby, her angel, had been ripped from her by forces out of her control, forces she wish she could have stopped, forces she wish she could have prevented from taking the light of her life. 

Rosanne had slipped into a coma, but her father still decided to come out for Theo’s service, leaving her mother with her. 

The minister spoke compassionately, going over Theodore’s life the way one traces their finger along the bind of a book, delicately and carefully. He spoke of how a young star had been taken from the sky, and that in the darkness that remained, although hard to see, light still shone.

At the end, Mary was invited to come up to speak. Her legs, which had felt like two hollow trees ever since she glimpsed the news that Thanksgiving night, walked gingerly through the crowd to the front of the service, leaving behind an air of sorrow. 

When she got to the front, she bowed her head, unable to look up into the crowd of friends and family who gathered. Her voice faltered, and went silent. Looking up, she saw the trees; all auburn and yellow. Their roots went deep, even so deep as to penetrate her heart, her very soul. 

A single leaf broke from a branch and swayed down through the wind, landing on the podium in front of her. For many minutes, all she could do was stare at that leaf, a symbol of death and decay, until she chose to pick it up and crumple it in her hand. 

Her son was never coming back, and she knew she must accept this, but doing so was like trying to gulp down your own throat.

Wind rustled through the cemetery, and somewhere, far off in the distance, Rosanne woke up. 

V

Inside the hospital, machines beeped and doctors and nurses moved to and fro. Mary walked down the hall with her head bent down, unable to make eye contact with those that passed her by. She walked up to room 219, and peered through the window. 

There lay Rosanne, awake but debilitated, with her father and mother on either side of the bed. Mary knocked quietly and, seeing Rosanne’s parents wave her in, opened the door and stepped inside. 

“Hello, Mary,” Rosanne’s father said. 

“Eric, Beverly…Rosanne,” she started. “How are you feeling?”

“The doctor’s expect me to make a full recovery.” And it was then, after saying that, that Rosanne could not hold in the tears any longer, and she let them fall and stain her cheeks. “I’m so sorry about-”

Mary could only stand there and nod. 

Rosanne shook her head. “It’s not fair.”

Mary clenched her teeth, and swallowed. “No. It’s not.”

There was a pause, and Mary looked down again. 

“There is…some good news, though.”

“What news?” Mary asked.

Rosanne beckoned her to come closer and, when she did, she took her hand and placed it on her stomach. 

Mary looked up at her, eyes wide.

Rosanne smiled, and said: “I hope it’s a boy so I can name him Theodore.”

For the first time since that dreadful Thanksgiving night, where her life fell apart and broke into a million pieces, she felt something.

She felt hope.