A WOMAN was sitting on the floor behind the last pew, hugging her knees, her head bent and rocking slightly to and fro. As Chris looked at her, she raised her head, but she was young with darker tones.

He exhaled slowly and moved away, looking around.
“Who hummed that song?”

There were a few more homeless people crouched in corners and sleeping on the benches, so Chris had to be cautious on how he approached anyone. Then an idea flashed in his mind and he began humming the song. There was no response until he was halfway through, then a soft voice joined in.
He followed the sound and saw her sitting behind the old organ, clothed in rags, her hair unkempt and her face streaked with dirt. Her eyes were closed as she sat there in a helpless posture, hugging a small bag.

A lump formed in Christopher’s throat as he looked at her, not quite like the photograph he had nor the vague image of her from his memory.
But he knew in his heart it was her and he called softly, “Mom.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him, but there was no recognition in the dull eyes and no smile on her chapped lips.It distressed his heart seeing her like that and he said to her, his voice breaking a little, “I’m Christopher, your little son.”
She looked at him for a long moment, then she laughed crazily, the sound of someone who had lost her mind, and just as suddenly, she stopped and said, “Gone.”
She took out a doll and two small cars from the bag she had been hugging, “My children gone.”

Her lips quivered and a sad, hopeless look filled her eyes as she cried quietly. A mother’s life shattered, wandering with empty arms for what was precious to her had been torn from her.
Christopher sat there on the floor crying with her and after a long while, he wiped his tears, got up and, taking her hand said, “Come on mother, it’s time for you to reunite with your children and the world.”

Since five years old he had cried for her, searched for her, his little heart grieving. Today, after 17 years, he had found her, could hold her hand and say that precious word, ‘Mother.’ The only difference was there was no light nor laughter in her eyes for a cruel hand had engineered darkness in her life.

Chris called on Mr. King for help and the true friend he had been to her, he stepped up. There was a lot to be done and after a thorough clean down and haircut by three of Mr. King’s beautician friends, and new clothes from another friend’s store, Chris got his mother admitted to the psychiatric wing of a new private hospital. Only then did he call Jason and Alana to tell them he had found their mother and explained what had happened to her. They were both so deeply relieved they broke down in tears.

“Thank God you never forgot her,” Alana said tearfully, “Dad imprisoned our minds with negative things so we wouldn’t want to remember her.”
Jason was so angry he wanted to confront their father but Chris implored him not to.
“Let it be for now, we have to focus on saving our mother.”
Jason and Alana flew in on an emergency flight to see her and spend some time with her, but the mother’s mind was still blank. After they left, Chris spent many hours of the day at the hospital with her. He wanted to be there, to hold her hand, to talk with her for it would be a long road for her to come back.
As he looked at her, his mind deeply disturbed, Chris asked silently,
“What kind of man would do this to his own wife, who had done him no wrong? What kind of man would destroy a mother to deny her of her own children?”
Those questions and more bothered his mind so much that at night he had difficulty sleeping.
“I have to stay strong,” he cautioned himself, “I have to help her get through this.”
A renowned psychiatrist from Manhattan was sent in by Jason and Alana, adding to the team that was attending to her and the mother’s progress continued to improve, day by day.
Five months later, Chris was lying back in the reclining chair in the hospital ward when a soft voice calling his name awoke him.
“Chris.”
He sat up, a bit disoriented, not sure who was calling his name, then she spoke again, “Where is my little boy? He has been crying.”
Chris was so overwhelmed with relief and joy he was not sure whether to laugh or cry. His mother had made it back into the light from the dark tunnel where her mind had been lost.
“Mother,” he said.
She looked at him puzzled and asked quietly, “Who are you?”
“I’m your little son, Chris.”
She looked at him and shook her head, tears in her eyes, “He is five.”
“I know,” Chris said to her, tears now welling in his eyes, for he realised she had lost all those years from since he was five to now.
“He cried for you and searched for you since that night they took you away.”
“How long ago was that?” she asked, a little tremor in her voice.
“Seventeen years.”
She looked at him shocked, “That’s a long time…what happened to me?”
“It’s a long story,” Chris said to her to keep her mind calm, “Your children are now with you and we will make up for all that lost time.”
There was relief and sadness in her eyes when she asked, tears streaming down her face, “I missed 17 years of my children’s lives?”
He nodded, unable to hold back the tears, as she held his face, “My little boy has grown up?”
Such a long time it was since he was in his mother’s embrace.
The bloom though withered over the years had not died, for love and hope had kept it alive.
Slowly now, it could become fresh and fragrant.