Letters of Mercy, Letters of Compassion

a short story

It was the spring of 1960; the end of the school year, my aunt Aries had been institutionalized for one month. My mother was finalizing a long letter she had written to my aunt. She sat at her desk, proofreading what she had composed. The letter was an act of kindness on my mother’s part. Yet, during my aunt’s institutionalizing her husband, Charles Sanders, skipped town without a trace as to his whereabouts. This led to my aunt’s mental breakdown, and her non-provisional flare of being beholden to the man she had formed a marital partnership with.

Aunt Aries grew up in grayness, and the curtains of her life barely open, even after she had married her husband.

Uncle Charles was a man about the world; and so, he formed an alliance with my Aunt, and the couple began playing out their roles as husband and wife.

Aries Sanders had battled mental illness for most of her life. Her marriage to Charles Sanders was a marriage of convenience, for Charles was led to put her away privily. Thus, she was institutionalized in a sanitarium. It was in the sanitarium when her life began taking on a new fervor: Through a series of letters between Aunt Aries and my mother, Aunt Aries began growing more resentful of the intrusion in her life. Yet, the correspondence helped my Aunt Aries navigate the difficult terrain of mental illness within our family.

Yet, at the behest of my mother, the family would don a low-profile when seen in public. We acted like the nomenclature of our lives was a normal mode of living out our daily existence. Still, we continued to live out our lives in the hope that Aunt Aries would get better. Yet; and still, my mother sought to heal the hurt between Aunt Aries and Uncle Charles.

Then, during one bleak day in the fall, my mother had received a scathing letter from Aunt Aries condemning Uncle Charles for his tawdry ways.

My mother sat down at her writing desk and began reading the letter:

Dear Maggie,

That man is a complete nincompoop. The audacity of him teaming up with a two-bit hussy and doing what he did. I don’t ever want to see him again. If he never come back, good riddance. My hands have been washed of that affair that he subjected me to when he began seeing that other woman. Did he know that I would find out that he was seeing my best friend? Obviously, he didn’t know.

I have to go now, Maggie, the nurse is hassling me about taking my medication.

We’re talk again,

Aries

After reading the letter, my mother pick up her pen and began composing a reply:

Dear Aries,

I was happy to hear that you have been doing well. I talked with your doctor by phone and he had a

glowing report about how remarkable your progress has been since your institutionalizing. I dare say your letter engendered faith where there wasn’t any faith before. I’m hopeful that your restraints will soon be lifted, and your independence back to a sobered life will be forthcoming.

I now know how hurt you were when Charles left you for another woman. There is no pity in my words, but I hope you will be able to forgive Charles one day because holding this grudge is not good for your mental health.

So until next time, keep looking upward,

Love you,

your sister-In-law,

Maggie

Two weeks later, my mother received another letter from Aunt Aries. She was adjusting well to her therapy; consequently, her letter was filled with a lot of angst and resentment about what Uncle Charles had done. It was the most mortifying letter that my mother had ever received:

Dear Maggie,

Thank-you for your kind letter. It opened my eyes to what I needed to do to rectify matters. The audacity! Who did he think I was? Some bimbo? As I told you earlier, I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive him for what he has done. Good riddance!

To think that we were a modeled couple who dined and went shopping together is a bunch of bull crap: All for nothing. And then, the moment my back was turned, he reneged — with one of my best friend. The hussy!. . .

I gotta go,

See you later,

Aries

The letter was filled with the anger and animosity of Aunt Aries’ erstwhile life. She had been taken by Uncle Charles’ charm and camaraderie; and so, became dutifully devoted to him as his wife. So, the couple made their marital alliance complete by re-taking their marriage vows. But this was to no avail. Consequently, the marriage didn’t work out. There was too much subterfuge, and not enough giving.

So, my mother replied immediately:

Dear Aries,

Your letter found me a bit perturbed. I was disappointed in your honesty; you should not have giving Charles more leeway to do what he did. Yet, you say your best friend took Charles away from you without abandoning her motives. You did say you caught them both sleeping together, though. Granted, catching someone sleeping with your spouse causes a lot of guilt, but are you certain that you want to write this off as a total loss without reconciliation.

Your sister-In-law,

Maggie,

The letters continued for weeks on end, raising the ire of both women; yet, offering both condescension and empathy to Charles. My mother was adamant about reconciliation, but Aunt Aries was sold on the idea of allowing Uncle Charles to stew in his own remorse.

Aunt Aries didn’t have any regrets but she assumed that Uncle Charles was remorseful about the whole blarney affair. Yet, it was my mother’s next letter that solidified my Aunt Aries’ situation.

Dear Aries,

I cannot but help bring attention to your attitude; you need to be more autonomous in asserting your independence. Your mental health is at stake.

Can you afford to haggle over this matter and not forgive Charles? The way I see this complicity is that the ball is in your court. Reconciling with Charles should be the earnest thing that you can do.

However, if you continue to harbor this attitude of yours, then you defeat your own purpose.

Love you,

your sister-In-law,

Maggie

In the fall of that year, my mother took a hiatus from writing letters. She was more concerned and obligated to her students. So, the letters stopped until both women simply went to attending to other matters for no apparent reason than getting tire of the tediousness of writing letters with no clairvoyance about the situation at hand.

The first thing that my mother did that fall was seek corroboration from colleagues. At the local PTA meeting one evening, my mother brought up the issue of mental health among colleagues and family members in both the academic and social setting.

The meeting was convened at 7 PM sharp. After reviewing the minutes of the last meeting, the agenda was called to order:

“If there is anyone who would like to take the floor, may do so at this time.”

There was silence.

Then my mother stood up slowly with her right hand raised, and began moving laboriously to the front. She had been acknowledged.

As she was walking to the front, the silence became deafening. Still, my mother continued walking boldly to the front. Upon reaching the podium, she stepped up to the microphone and took a deep breath and exhaled: The topic of my mother’s speech was on the issue of mental health in the community.

“At our last meeting, we touched on the topic of mental health concerning the resident. I remember we talked about the travails of those who has been hard pressed in struggling with mental health issues. Since that time, I have spoken with a great number of people — professionals as well as laypeople, and what I’ve found out is interesting . . . " My mother stared into the rapt presence of the audience and continued speaking: “Our community is facing a crisis of national proportions. On any given day in our Republic, you can visit any local park in our fair city and see how the other half lives.” The audience was still sitting mesmerize to the words that were emanating from my mother’s mouth: “These people are not only the downtrodden, but formerly marginalized residents who are living on the fringes of society have become subjected to borderline situations; and, in some cases, extreme degrees of schizophrenic disorders.” The audience sat at rapt attention listening to my mother’s words: “Walker Park has been a common attraction for tourists and visitors coming to Pleasantville, but today it seems to be a venue for squatter’s rights. Just one trip will convince you that there need to be a special outreach program for the homeless in our city, and how that program can be expanded into more resources that can benefit the homeless population. . .” My mother’s speech went on for thirty minutes speaking about the homeless population, before she finally came to the part she had written about Aunt Aries:

“During the last semester, as many of you know, I had to abruptly leave school to attend to a familial problem: There was a sudden, unexpected crisis in my family. My sister-In-Law, Aries Sanders, suffered a mental breakdown and had to be institutionalized. Not to worry, she doing fine. We have been writing letters to one another about her situation.” Everybody were sitting at rapt attention. “Aries is doing fine yet there are complicit details to her situation that has discombobulated me. Her husband left her which made her a nervous wreck. We discontinued our letter-writing until further notice. I need to sort through some things that has become puzzling as I speak to you.

We pride ourselves on being a community that merits concern for every resident. But what have we done to showcase that concern to the public. As a municipality in the state of Arkansas, we are on the bottom of the socioeconomic ladder in the state. If we are going to authenticate who we are, then some drastic measures must result.

Even before my mother reached the denouement of her speech, people were standing to their feet, clapping and cheering her on. My mother was standing patiently waiting for the cheering and hand-clapping to stop before continuing her speech. Once the applaud died down, my mother began where she left off, “Aries’s progress is contingent on another important matter — right now, her institutionalizing has isolated her from the family. This is an issue that I will bring up when I meet with her doctor sometime later this semester. We will see, then, how everything goes. Then my mother rallied toward her heart-warming summation and the audience’s approval: We have made great strides in combatting anxiety disorders and depression among community residents, but we can do better; we must do better to end this complicity among our people.”

The audience stood to their feet, applauding.

Two months later, my mother took a leave of absence from teaching. It was the day she was scheduled to meet with Aunt Aries’s doctor. But before she departed, she had to convene a meeting with the substitute teacher. She woke up that morning fighting the desultory mood she was in. She walked out of her bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom. Then she stared into the glum image looking at her in the mirror: “Pep up, old girl, this is not the end of the world. You will know the whole truth when you come face to face with Aries.”

When my mother had arrived at school, she immediately reported to the principal office; the substitute teacher was there, waiting.

When my mother approached the substitute teacher; her mood swing had changed — my mother was showing that effervescent look that is a common trait of school teachers on that first day of school. The two women shook hands and exchanged brief introductions. Then they began the conversation with the proper decorum:

“Mrs. Jones, here’s the daily agenda for the class. You can look over this as you wish and change anything that’s not in accordance to your specifications. I will be gone for the rest of the semester; an important matter has come up in the family.”

After the interview, both women smile cordially at one another. Then my mother invited Mrs. Jones to the school cafeteria for a friendly chat and to introduce her to other faculty members.

About mid-morning, my mother was back home packing her personal belongings she will need on this trip. My mother had been receiving telephone calls from a Dr. Timothy McGraw, a clinical practitioner appointed to Aunt Aries’ situation. She was scheduled to meet with Dr. McGraw later that day. So, she knew she needed to schedule a flight.

After my mother had scheduled the flight, she walked out the house and got into the car; her flight was scheduled to depart the Memphis International Airport at 1 PM. It was now 11 AM.

She arrived at the Memphis airport on time; and so, she pulled into the parking garage and drove up to the top tier of the garage. Then she caught the shuttle which carry her to claim her reservation.

After the formalities, my mother looked at the clock. It was now 12-noon. So, she walked to the section where her departing flight will arrive.

To be continued.