THANK YOU, STEPHEN KING

I sometimes forget a face; I never forget a heart.

I met Mother Abigail in 1981 -- Stephen King introduced us. He found her in Nebraska, deep in the midst of a plague epidemic, the few remaining survivors being pulled between evil and good: the Dark Man and Mother Abigail. Mother Abigail asked, "You dreamed of me. Ain't I real?", and with those words, Stephen King planted a seed in my heart.

Mother Abigail lives with me now. Her skin, still the color of pot roast gravy, puckers with wrinkles, and when I snuggle my nose against her, I smell baby oil and love. Mother Abigail's hair is not so white now. I've colored it, much the same way I color mine. Mine got redder, hers got blacker.

Not so frail any more, Mother Abigail's lap has grown so wide that even the biggest of children can sit comfortably. I know. I'm a fifty-nine year old child who climbs on that lap for rocking and cuddling and comforting.

Her dress, kissed a thousand times by her scrub board, has faded so that the flower print is just a memory. The fragrance of sunshine clings to the thin cotton and smells sweeter than gardenias.

Did I tell you about Mother Abigail's breasts? Why, they're big, and soft, and floppy, and don't they make the best pillow in the world? When I press my ear against her breasts, I can hear Mother Abigail's heart a-beating and a-thumping. It'll beat forever. Mother Abigail will live through all eternity. Forever and ever.

Sure, she's old -- old enough to have seen the best and the worst this world has to offer. She's wise enough to never be shocked or surprised by anything.

"Mother Abigail," I whisper to her. "I read that the world is coming to an end. People have been seeing signs and hearing warnings. The nuns told me it would happen someday, and I guess that someday is near. I'm really scared."

"Now, child," she tells me, rocking us in her old wicker chair, "People been prophetizing the end of the world since the very beginning of time. I heard it a thousand times myself, but I ain't never seen it happen yet, and I don't think I ever will. You'se just scared, child, and that's natural enough. You always think the world, or your life, is coming to an end, which is pretty much the same thing, ain't it? Sit here with me. We'll wait together. No harm will come to you here in my arms. You'll see."

"Mother Abigail," I whisper to her another day, "Something real bad happened to me. Someone hurt me. I just feel like I could die."

"Ahh, child," she hugs me close, "Something real bad did happen to you, and I'm so sorry. Your little heart feels broken, and you think it won't ever feel right again. It will, though. We'll make it better together. You and me and maybe a little help from God. You ain't gonna die from this. No way. You got things to do in this world, little girl, and you can't do those things if you die, now can you?"

"Mother Abigail," I cry in the middle of the night, "I don't think anyone in the whole world loves me, not really, and I don't blame them, but it still makes me lonely."

"Oh, child," Mother Abigail says, shaking her head and holding me hard, "The only person that don't love you is you. You gotta fill up that aching lonesome heart with love for yourself. Here, I'm gonna give you a pinch of my love to start, and then we'll add a little of your love and before you know it, your heart's gonna start getting all filled up, and then all that love in your heart is gonna chase the lonely right out."

And Mother Abigail rocks me and holds me and soothes me and loves me.

She lives in a cabin on a hill in the midst of a green forest beside a field of the sweetest smelling yellow-gold corn. She sits and waits on her wrap-around porch, rocking and watching for me. If I listen with my heart-ear, I can hear the creak-creak-creak of her rocker calling me.

I visit her often. Whenever I'm scared, whenever I'm hurt, whenever I'm lonely, or just plain world-weary, I close my eyes and think of her.

"Mother Abigail, I need you," I whisper.

Then, like Dorothy with her magic red shoes, I close my eyes and concentrate. I see myself taking flight, leaving this world in my shadow, soaring over the hills and woods and majestic cornfields.

There!

There's the cabin!

I can see Mother Abigail!

She's in her chair, smiling and rocking, humming and glowing.

I'm getting closer!

I slowly descend to the ground, walk up the dirt path, and climb the worn wooden steps.

"Mother Abigail?"

"Yes, my lovely child. Come sit with me," she says, opening her arms to me.

"Mother Abigail, I need you."

"Yes, honey, I know."

And then we begin. I spew out my fears, she blows them away. I cry my tears, she kisses them away. I tremble, she embraces.

Mother Abigail.

My Ideal Mother.

My Safe Place.

My Heart.

c2009 Linda S Amstutz