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“ My Precious Diary, it is the year 1846 and day 19 of October. I attended my poor father’s funeral on my dear
birthday, a day I’m supposed to be happy and celebrate with those I hold close. But today I unwillingly had to let go of my father. It has torn me apart into pieces, though I have my beloved husband, Thorald. He is the only man I have left in my life.“
Six days have passed. My mother, Erina, enters my bedroom and offers me tea with buttered bread. She insists I eat it for I have not eaten a crumb of anything since my father’s funeral. At first, I reject her offer for I only care to lie in my bed and wallow in feelings of unfulfillment and sorrow. However, with my mothers begging to near tears I oblige and slowly eat the snack she had brought me.
She tries to comfort me as I chew but it only deepens my sorrow. Father used to comfort me when I was feeling down, as I reminisce on those sweet memories which soothed my heart I begin to disassociate. Flashback memories to younger me and father running around our green field chasing each other in the warm refreshing sun, father shooing a wild goose away who tried to peck me, buying such a beautiful dress for my 16th birthday, and finally him holding my arm in his as we walked down the wedding aisle. My happy thoughts are ruined by a quick flashing image of my father lying in his coffin cold and lifeless. As my mind slowly comes back to the present I feel wet tear drops fall from my eyes and onto the bread in my hand. It is soggy now but I do not care and finish it anyway. I have not cared about much, not even my own well-being. The only people who make me care about things in life are my mother, Erina, and my husband, Thorald. Especially Thorald, the love of my life who gives me the comfort I need from a man during dark times like this.
Just as I was thinking of him he knocks and enters the room. “Good evening, Miss Erina,” he walks up to her and gently pecks the back of her aged hand. “Good evening, My Love.” he passionately kisses the back of my frail hand. The gentle smile on his face fades away as he notices I have not greeted him back. “I see you’ve finally eaten something today. Are you feeling any better, love?” I slightly shake my head no and he sighs as he sits on the edge of our bed. My mother quietly steps out of the room and leaves us our privacy. “We’re all mourning your father together, so please let us heal together too. Won’t you at least try, my love?” His gentle smile returns and my eyes soften in endearment. “Anything for you, my dear Thorald.”
“My Precious Diary, it is the year 1849 and day 9 of April. I celebrated Easter with my mother, husband, and fellow neighbors. Today was a day full of joy and laughter. I have not felt this good since my father passed and though I miss him dearly I am finally starting to move on with my life and live for those around me.”
Thorald and I stumble into our bedroom at exactly midnight after the party with our bodies drained and our hearts fulfilled from this lively night. We slip into our nightwear and lie on the bed side by side. I look over to him and giggle “Thorald, have you ever wanted a child? We have been married for five years now.” His eyes, which were slowly closing, popped open with surprise as he exclaimed, “A child?!? Oh heavens no, my love. That has NEVER crossed my mind.” while huffing & puffing.
I pout and inch closer to him, “Oh but why not? Don’t you want a mixture of us running around?” Thorald furrows his brows and sternly says, “No. Not ever have I wanted a child, you are my only love.” The sparkle of hope from my eyes disappears and I inch away from him, “Okay, dear. Goodnight..” He shuts off the lamp and drifts off to sleep, I on the other hand stayed up thinking about our conversation. I never knew Thorald had something against children yet then again I’ve never seen him interact with one much. Does he really believe a child would take away the love we have for each other? How terrible. As my thoughts go on and on I slowly drift off to sleep.
Four months have passed and it is now August. I am three months pregnant and my due date is in February As you can see my Thorald has had a change of heart since that night. He developed a wild fever once our latest neighbors had a new-born daughter, we name this baby fever. Thorald won’t stop asking me for a baby and I happily gave him one. Now we’re waiting patiently as the days go by.
“My Precious Diary, it is the year 1850 and day 15 of February. Today has been full of precious life as I ‘ve finally given birth to my healthy baby boy, Timon. He has beautiful big brown eyes like me and a handsome nose like his father. Timon and I are happily lying in bed together meanwhile his father has come down with a cursed fever for the past week. I have been worried sick, so sick that I thought it would have affected our baby boy though luckily it has not.“
After taking a nap with Timon I place him in his crib and exit the room to visit my Thorald. He has not seen our son yet and only heard his pure cries from his nursery across the hall. I enter our bedroom to see my beloved husband vomiting as he has many times since he’s been sick. Huge red rough patches all over his body from head to toe which have caused him agonizing itchiness.
My dear, are you feeling any better?”. He slowly and shakily turns over to face me, “Not in the slightest my love.” I sit on the edge of our bed and let out a deep sigh, a sigh that many release during times of despair. “My mother has been doing everything she can for you while I’ve been watching over Timon.” My body slouches over the edge of the bed, “I’ve called a doctor this morning and it is nearly 8 p.m now. Hospitals are especially busy this time of year assisting those with allergies. However this is more serious than those cases and it boils my blood that they cannot make any excep-” A hard knock hits the front door stopping me in my tracks. I jump off the bed and rush to see who’s there and to my surprise it’s Dr. Newman. We have a small chat and rush to where Thorald is. Dr. Newman follows his usual routine in order to make a diagnosis.
Two hours pass and it is now 10 pm. Thorald has been diagnosed with an awful case of Meningitis, a rare but curable disease, however in his case it is deadly. If only we called a doctor sooner he would have a better chance of surviving this horrid beast which has beat his body down to a pulp. My mother swore he only had a slight fever and she could bring him back to health nonetheless his symptoms worsened each day. As I heard the diagnosis my body dropped down to the cold, hard carpet and a flashing light crossed by eyes, I passed out. Two hours pass and it is now 12 pm. I slowly wake up to a throbbing headache and terrible ringing in my ear. I arise from the soft sofa and look around to see a blurred living room. My vision and senses are hazy for a few moments and come back to normal as I remember why I passed out. I jump off the sofa screaming my head off in agony and running towards our bedroom. I stop at the doorway to see him wrapped in a body bag and three doctors including Dr. Newman carrying him out with gloomy expressions.
“My Precious Diary, it is the year 1850 and day 18 of February. I am unfortunately accompanied by my three day old son and mother at my husband's funeral. I’ve been experiencing a sense of deja vu because being here reminds me of my father’s funeral. The decorations, smell, people, and most of all the devastating emotion. As I watch my husband’s coffin be buried into the ground it takes all strength to not burst into tears.”
I ponder how I’m going to tell Timon his father is gon-” I stop in my tracks as I come to the realization I don’t have to tell him his father is dead because he simply isn’t. This is someone else’s funeral, a neighbor to be exact. His father is a sailor who is venturing the sea. We wait patiently for him to return.
As I’m zoned out coming up with a false reality my mother, Erina has been tapping on my shoulder and tapping harder and harder as each minute passes. I finally come back to my senses and let out a loud gasp, “Huh? .. Oh, I’m sorry. What happened, mommy?” She tells me the funeral service has ended and leads me to the carriage home. As I enter the house with Timon on my left hip I notice my heart feels empty. No more tears have formed on my face, have I no tears left to cry so soon? I slowly walk down the hall and lay Timon in his crib so he can finish his nap. He is a rather peaceful baby boy; I adore his miniature yawns and slight sounds which pour out his sweet mouth. I hope he grows to be a sweet boy as I, his mother, plan to be the best parent I can for him since his father is away. I stroll to my room to relax until Timon wakes. I see my husband’s pillow and my heart fills with anger. “Why do you have to be gone for so long?!?” I yell and throw the pillow into the fireplace across the room. I undress from my mourning wear and throw it into the fireplace too. I grab a match from my dresser and light it up watching everything burn to ashes fills my heart with joy and peace.
Suddenly, a rushed knock hits my bedroom door. I run to it and see my mother there with a shocked expression, “Why does who have to be gone for so long? What’s wrong, my dear?!?” I begin to panic as I try to come up with an excuse, all the while my mother turns and notices my dress burning in the fireplace. She exclaims asking me what I’ve done and tries to fan the dress but to no avail. It’s already burnt to a crisp. Timon’s awakens and his cries can be heard in the background, a sense of calamity has emerged. My mother grabs me by my shoulders and shakes the last remaining life from my body, “How could you do this?! What has gotten into you, Amelia?!?” My mouth widens as I try to answer her question but I drop to my knees and everything goes black.
“My Precious Diary, it is the year 1850 and day 3 of March. I have been forcefully admitted into an asylum by my mother. After awoke from fainting I spoke in tongues about my husband, Thorald being a sailor overseas. I have been working diligently to convince the psychiatrists that I don’t belong here because I don’t belong here! My husband has been gone since Timon’s birth yet my mother has tried to convince me Thorald died and that I even attended his funeral. How preposterous! I can no longer trust my mother since her evil intentions have become clear to me. She wants my husband dead for whatever motive of hers and I now see her as an enemy.. I may even have to get rid of her in order for my family to live peacefully.”
The thought of my seemingly sweet mother betraying my family and I angers me to my core. As I lie in this wretched bed I ponder what her motive is. Is it money? We are not rich yet, not far from it. Ugh! I have been stressed for days. I miss my precious baby boy. I’ll burn her to the stake if she ever hurts him! As various thoughts run through my mind, Dr. Durham, my psychiatrist enters the room. He is strictly professional and shows very little emotion. It’s so hard trying to persuade him to set me free, but I will get free! It is my first goal. He greets me in monotone, “How are you this morning, Ms. Hill?” “I’m doing graciously. You want to know what would make it better?” I lean up from the bed and closer to his face. “GETTING OUT OF HERE YOU IMBECILE! YOU KNOW NOTHING OF WHAT A CRAZY PERSON TRULY IS. HOW DARE YOU KEEP ME HERE AND REFUSE TO LET ME GO!” Dr.Durham jolts and calls in a nurse. The nurses rush in and quickly strap Amelia to her bed and give her a dosage of Ativan. She almost immediately seeps into the bed as the medicine is administered in her bloodstream.
“Ms. Hill-“ Amelia interrupts him in a drowsy voice, “It’s Mrs. Hill.” He raises his eyebrows,”Mrs. Hill, when I asked you how were you doing you said graciously and then proceeded to scream in my face. Why didn’t you tell me that you aren’t feeling well? That you’re dissatisfied?” Amelia tilts her head to the side and says blankly, “Please pardon my outburst for I am not angry, instead I am sad. I want to hold my Timon in my arms again and be reunited with my husband.” He takes a step closer to the bed, “Sad? You mean depressed, Mrs. Hill. You have depression.” Her eyes trace him blankly, “Oh, so that’s the word. Yes, I am.” Her eyes stop tracing him and turn their focus to the upper wall behind him to see a white spider. “At times I wish to be a cellar spider too,” They can make themselves invisible and I want that, to be invisible myself.” Dr. Durham steps closer to her bed and asks her why she wants to be invisible. Merely a nearly invisible cellar spider on the wall is all she wants to be.
“My Precious Diary, it is the year 1850 and day 3 of May. Two months later I finally got free from the Asylum.
My stay there began in dread and hate; now it is full of content. I appreciate my treatment there and am allowed to contact my family. I will contact my mother first and ask how she and Timon are doing. I pick up the black phone to my left and dial her number. She answers, “Hello! Is this my dear daughter?” She says with cheer in her voice. “Yes, it is mother!” I respond in the same cheerful manner. “I love to finally hear your voice. You’re no longer speaking in tongues as I last heard. Tell me about your treatment and I’ll let you speak to Timon.”
Amelia tells her mother about the Ativan medication, meds for delusions, and talk therapy and how it benefited her. Her mother loved to hear all the good news. She asked her about her thoughts while in there and it made them both drop in silence. Her mother was concerned to hear that Amelia believed she hated Thorald and wanted him gone. She reassured her daughter that she would never do such a thing and has been taking care of their child alone. Amelia musters up the bravery to ask about Thorald since he wasn’t mentioned as being back in the village. That’s something the Psychiatrist didn’t catch.. The fact that Amelia still keeps the delusion of her husband being among the living still. Her mother was in complete shock at the question as it was insensitive. She questioned if the therapy made her forget about his passing. Amelia’s face drops dead cold at her response. “I am NOT a WIDOW!” DO NOT TELL ME MY HUSBAND PASSED AWAY. HE HAS ALWAYS BEEN ALIVE, I TOOK GOOD CARE OF HIM!” Her mother yells back the details of his passing and funeral date.
The widow is in complete shock and takes her anger out on her sensible mother. She screams that SHE is the widow and not HER, reminding her that her father died. She clings down the phone and her mother on the other side is still in shock. While Amelia packs her small baggage for release, she plots her revenge on her mother. She is in a deep state of hatred and wants to take it out the best way possible, homicide.
“My Precious Diary, it is the time 10:30 am and day 3 of May. I am officially released and on my way home in a public trolley.
The woman next to me eyes my appearance with raised eyebrows and a slanted torso. I suppose I still resemble the color of a skull. Whatever! I resent my mother and yearn for my baby! I need to come up with how I’m going to kill my mother for insisting that I am some puny widow in this life. I absolutely reject that reality and will keep my Thorald alive in my memory. I must make Timon do the same. He will be a legacy! The trolley reaches my destination. I get off and slowly creep towards the front door. I knock using the tan handle and wait for an opening.
I see there has been a change in decor. I like it and it distracts my mind momentarily. Erina (mother) opens the door with a surprised expression. “Home so soon?” She expresses. “Of course, mother (hag). Please let me through. I am dying to see my boy.” She lets her in with her eyes diverted. She tells her daughter that her son is on the couch playing with a bottle. She runs towards him, “Timon!” She screams. “Mommy’s been waiting to see you forever!! I’m so delighted to finally see you!!” She picks him up quickly and floods him with bright kisses and warmth. They cuddle and reunite for hours. The first few minutes you can see Amelia’s skin begin to glow. It is a mother’s beautiful glow that lasts for months! “I am exceedingly delighted to be here with him, mother. Oh how I longed to feel his baby’s breath.” Her mother shares a thin smile and tilts her head downwards. “About the phone, Amelia, why do you get upset so easily?” Amelia walks towards her mother and whispers, “I. need. My husband. BACK!” “That is why I am easily irritable.” she backs up. “I AM BITTER!” she screams as her lip quivers from melancholy. Her mother is too frightened by her dark aura to offer any comfort. She stands still and looks to Timon for comfort.
She utters, “I know you’re finally back but.. I want more time with Timon before I go home.” She stands upright, “In fact, you can come along too. Maybe it’ll help with your grieving process.” She leads Amelia to her home and they sit on the couch. Hours pass by and they speak about the process of getting over a late husband. Her mother shares her methods of gardening and humming love poems. Amelia raises her eyebrows and looks to the side with a guilty face as she reconsiders her thoughts of homicide.
Tears begin to drop from her eyes and she grabs her mother and hugs her tightly. “Thank you mother. I will follow your methods and finally heal the delusion in my heart.” She takes Timon and heads back home after three hours of conversation. It is the evening now and she uses some nearby black rose seeds to plant gracefully. She hums to herself and mumbles under her breath, “I almost murdered my poor mother over my delusions. She has done nothing wrong but be my supporter and I’ll learn to love her again for that.” Amelia closes her eyes and takes a deep sigh and she waters the seeds. “I will learn to love my mother again and learn to be happy with the little family I have left in this life.”
That is the end of Amelia Hill’s story.