A Sons Shoulder
Mary had always been amazed by how much Tom valued his mothers opinion. No matter the topic, he would always say, Lets see what Mum thinks first. His girlfriend found this almost infuriatingwhy ask for advice from his mother if she was, in her own mind, the best advisor he could have?
Tom would hear everyone out, weigh it up, but often ended up doing things his own way anyway. But hed always ring his mother, listen carefully, then apologise if he had chosen differently and explain why. His mother lived in a small village in Kent, and Tom was settled on the outskirts of London.
After completing his studies in civil engineering, Tom took a job as a site manager on a construction project. Mary worked as a solicitor. Her parents were younger and more modern, wealthier too, and Mary thought, perhaps cleverer than Toms mother. Despite never having met Abigail White, her soon-to-be-mother-in-law, Mary imagined a loud, commanding, fussy woman, always ready to pinch pennies.
Tom had taken out a mortgage for a flat. He described the neighbourhood to his mother with such glowing colours that Mary would often laugh and tease him, Where exactly did you spot these parks, all those playgrounds and well-stocked shops? And a surgery down the road? Thats a bit of a stretch!
Its all in the masterplan, thousands of families to move in, itll all be there, just not today. Let Mum be pleased, Tom would reply.
He wasnt in a rush to propose because all his savings had been put towards the mortgage deposit, the rest earmarked for decorating and furnishing the flat. There was simply nothing left for a wedding. He heeded his mums words: Dont rush into marriage, son. Settle in at work. Sorting out your own place will take time and money you cant spare if youve got a mortgage and a new family. Itll all end in stress and blame. Make sure youve got your own home. Dont let yourself depend on anyone.
Tom found meeting Marys parents a letdown. Endless questions about his salary, his career ambitions; to them, site manager seemed to mean nobody. Everything circled back to money. Not a word about Toms mothers healthonly interest in whether she could help pay the mortgage.
Every morning, Tom sent his mum a cheerful greeting, and every evening he called to share news of his day. Their conversations would last for ages. He listened closely, sometimes even snapped at herbut only about her health, when she refused to take care of herself.
Mary suggested Tom move in with her parents until his own flat was finished, but his mother put her foot down: Dont settle in as a lodger, son. Bring your bride to your own place, set your own table. Thats the mans job. If you didnt have a flat, it would be different. Be patient, move in proper, and then marry. Tom agreed, and Mary thought wryly how odd it was that such a strong, clever man stuck so firmly to old-fashioned notions.
It irked Mary that Toms mother was his priority, and she did her best to contradict or ignore any advice the older woman gave. Tom noticed, but took it in his stride, thinking it simple jealousy that would fade once the two met.
But Mary grew ever more agitated; her jealous spats became more frequent and harsh, often turning into personal tirades aimed at Abigail White. Finally, she insisted on meeting Toms mother face-to-face, certain that in person she could set her straight.
The village in Kent welcomed them with the open friendliness only the country can provide. Locals called out warm greetings to Tom, with one or two compliments for Mary. The house, a tall, spacious home with every comfort, surprised Mary, but she noticed no one ran out to welcome them with hugs.
Toms sister Sophie appeared from one room, a child tucked in her arms. Mary scanned for her future mother-in-law, confused, until Tom gently took her hand and led her to a bright, airy sitting room. There, an elderly woman sat upright in an armchair, bursting with joy at seeing them. She tried to stand, but her legs failed her and she fell back into the chair.
Beside her stood a set of walking frames: her second pair of legs. Suddenly, everything made sense to Mary. Shed never seen such tenderness and care as in Toms eyes when he looked at his mother. In an instant, he was a boy again, dropping to his knees, head in her lap, occasionally glancing up at her face that glowed with happiness.
My darling, why did you hide such a lovely girl from me? his mother beamed. How happy I am to see you both! Come here, Mary, come let me hug you. Youre exactly as I pictured. Tom never stops talking about how wonderful and beautiful you are.
Mary heard the excitement in the old womans breath, her heart beating quickly, and the tremor in her voice. It seemed Abigail White was holding back tears by sheer will.
Sophie swiftly laid the table, and Mary realised that the spreads her own mother prided herself on couldnt hold a candle to what Toms sister had prepared. The table fairly creaked under the feast.
Tom carried his mother to the table. The act seemed a light task for him as his mothers tiny frame hugged his neck, resembling a child. Not a moment of silence passed at the tablestories, laughter, and easy conversation filled the air. No one paid special attention to Mary, as if shed always belonged. Toms mother only asked about her parents healthnever salary, never houses, never the wedding. Tom served his mother, urging her to eat a little more.
Abigail couldnt hide the joy she felt from such loving attention. Mary realised that, sitting beside Tom, she was really somewhere far off. His mother was at the centre of everything now.
That evening, Mary, unable to contain herself, asked in her familiar, dissatisfied tone,
Why didnt you tell me your mother is immobile?
Well, did anyone ask about her health? You asked about my wages, cars, background, propertya dozen timesnever about Mum. You get cross that I seek her advice, that I phone so often.
She lives through me. I want her to always know how much I value her wit, her wisdom, to remind her that her disability means nothing to us. She carries on because she knows I need her, and so does Sophie. Shes terribly ill, her days are numbered, but I refuse to let what time she has left be overshadowed by hopelessness. I fill her days with colour as best I can.
Your mum once asked if mine could help pay the mortgage. Whats she to spend money on in the village? Food comes from the garden, clothes are simplegumboots and her housecoat, thats all she needs.
Your family might put money and status first, but my mums priority is kindness and soul. It is me who should support her, not wring money from her. As long as shes alive, dont be offendedshell come first.
Theres enough love in my heart for everyone. I cant bear the thought of regretting neglecting her once shes gone. I’d rather be a good son than a model husband. If that doesnt suit, think hard about marrying a man who isnt rich, still paying off a mortgage, and whose family always comes first.
Mary couldnt imagine losing Tom. In truth, she couldnt see any real reason to risk it. Watching him with his mother and sister, she suddenly realised shed do well to hold on to such a man with both hands.
Jealousy and grievances were no match for the respect and understanding she now feltnot just for Tom, but for the woman he would always be ready to carry in his arms.
