The mass came to a conclusion, but this time Maria did not feel cleansed. She didn't feel as though her sins had been washed away by the disinfectant of the Lord's will. Maria waited in the church to make her fourth confession in three weeks. Joe and the children went on to drive home; Maria had insisted she’d walk home. As she waited in the second row seats in the church, she observed the gothic, precise design of interior of the church. The walls were a chocolate brown, carved with even lines that formed patterns relevant to holiness and the afterlife a reminder of your goal.
The roof was an arch, decorated with multi-coloured glass tinted windows which visually expressed the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ. So perfect she thought depressively why can’t I be perfect like that God? Why? At that consideration, Father John intervened with his wisdom and grace, his hands wide open ready to humbly embrace her problems. He beamed enthusiastically as he approached her from the back room of the church. “ Maria! My most dedicated patron of the church! How are you?” he asked politely, waiting patiently for a response.
She clutched her bag vulnerably, fiddling with her teeth with her tongue. A nervous habit. “I wish I could say I was well Father, but I’m not.” Her voice was weak with worry, she’d used up most of her energy wondering what the worst possible outcome of her preoccupation with failure and imperfection would be. And the dream….oh that terribly frightening dream….Father John’s face transformed into something more pitying and gentle, he placed his right arm against her back and slowly directed her to the confession booth. As he did so, he asked caringly “What could possibly be of concern now my dear? This is your second confession in a week, what bothers you?” They placed themselves separately in each terminal, and began the session officially.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
She wept.
“You don’t know how?” She felt him lean in closer to the screened window connecting the booths.
“Tell me what’s on your mind child. What bothers you.”
She choked on her tears, but resumed sharing her troubles.
“I just don’t feel like I’m doing the right thing. Everything feels out of place.”
“Mmmm, and how?”
“Well, I’ve-I’ve-“ she coughed a sob.
The priest tried to help finish her sentence, “you’ve?”
“I can’t say. I’m too scared, it’s horrible. Everything is horrible. I’m losing control, God must be punishing me. Must he?” It seemed more like a trivia session now.
Father John was trying to calm her now, ease her panic.
“Now, now Maria. Maria. What is it that is so difficult to confess? You are safe, you can tell me. Everything you say in here is confidential, and nothing you say will be placed against you. You are in God’s house, what’s the worst that can happen?”
Maria could see through the small square gaps of the frame that Father John was smiling reassuringly. He was always good like that. Gentle, understanding. But he wasn’t God, so he couldn’t always be right. Her minded flew like a rocket into oblivion it seemed, her terrors were inescapable.
“Speak Maria, please. I want to help you.”
She built up all the anxiety in her body as if she was rolling up the hill to the tip top of the drop of a water ride. And then she released.
“I’m having nightmares Father. Serious nightmares. Symbolic of something-wrong.”
She had rushed it all out as if she had vomited something revolting and infectious to clear her system. But the relief only stayed for so long, there was a gasp, a puddle of sweat sinking through her forehead, and extreme uneasiness in her body. She flinched, she twitched, she had little self-control.
“Maria? Are you alright?” The priest sounded worried and disturbed.
Precipitously Maria developed wooziness, a wooziness that trapped her emotions from being expressed. Her vision blurred, she vocalised something and it echoed. She was trapped. Trapped in her own trauma. She stood dramatically and nearly collapsed out of the booth, she ran out of the church in a hurry, ignoring Father John trailing hurriedly behind her. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see. She burst through the double doors and gasped for air, dropping to her knees onto the pebbled steps.
She regained her normal breathing pace again, and found calm in the arms of Father John who came up behind her. The sky was bright and beautiful, but why was it not a good day?
“Oh Maria, child. Breathe, breathe. Feel the Lord’s warmth, look closely into him. You need to look closer.” Dear Father John kept counselling her, urging her to find the source of the light of God’s love. But all she could feel was terror. Terror that all was wrong, she was wrong, and God was unhappy with her. But why?
Maria lay awake in bed, frozen stiff like a tree stump in the ground. Joe had prayed, and was now slipping beneath the sheets ready to switch the light off before going to sleep. Joe was worried though, and had been for several weeks now. Maria was not herself, more insecure than usual, and definitely increasingly edgy. So as he lay in bed on his side, he watched her as she gazed into the ceiling, as if she were being hypnotised by something evil. She had always been a little paranoid that was for sure. But not to the extent of thinking that the world was going to close in, or whatever. He finally built up the courage to speak.
“Those nightmares are getting to you Maria. They’re getting worse.” There was no response from Maria, she only closed her eyes lightly as if to block out reality. “ Last night you were screaming, shrieking, I didn’t want to wake you at first because I thought it’d scare you more but-“ he sighed and wrapped his arm around her waist, caressing her hip tenderly. “ But then you started to say things like-like- God forgive me! And Lord have mercy! The girls came in for god’s sake-“That last comment triggered her anxiety, she lifted herself from his grip and pointed directly at his mouth, “Don’t blaspheme in this house! You hear me? No wonder I can feel some extra sin in this house.” Joe just shook his head. Shook his head in complete awe at her distinctly unusual paranoia
. “Maria, please calm down. Please. I know you love God, and we all do in this family. We worship him as you expect us to. But you are behaving far from crazy right now. Father John called me this afternoon. He sounded worried, and so am I.” Maria cupped her face in her hands now devastated. “The kids know you are on edge Maria.
They have known for months now. We-we think you should see someone.” Maria, appalled by this request leapt up out of bed to go into the next room, “I won’t see any of those know it all science freak doctors” she clarified bluntly, “There is a Christian psychologist Father knows!” he mentioned quickly, to stop her in her tracks. She stopped. She turned in interest. Joe smiled pleadingly “please Maria, just see someone. Please. For the children if not for yourself.” She uttered no response, and merely looked away in shame as if she'd been stripped naked by the devil himself. She barely even knew what to make of the mess she was in. What to do? After a moment leaving her husband hanging in patience, she hopelessly sighed "Ok".
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