The graduation ceremony was fast approaching. The Bishop and Sister Mabel and a little girl sat merrily on the lawn outside the ampiteather preparing. They sat each holding a file and scribbling notes into it. They all looked happy connected somehow.

The nuns wondered to themselves whom the little girl with them might be, but they had no answers. Some assumed she must be a new nun coming to join the mission house.

The three of them spent this time wallowing in each other’s company – catching up. The girl had answers to questions Sister Mabel had had for many years. Sister Mabel had answers to questions that she had had for many years. This situation was a dream for the Bishop. Once or twice, seated in their company, he pinched himself to make sure he was not dreaming.

The little girl was beautiful and neither of them, the Bishop or Sister Mabel count take their eyes or hands off of her. She did not mind the affection she was receiving from her parents. Or at least the attention she was receiving from her biological parents, since she had parents that raised her.

She had Donald’s round and flat nose and she had Mabel’s green emerald eyes. She had the tiniest hands and the tiniest feet. Her hand was tiny but her fingers were long, making her hand look out of shape – odd if you like. The Bishop laughed when he saw them. They were literally searching her body like a new born baby.

“You have my mother’s hands,” said the Bishop to the girl. Her eyes lit up with joy. She was a complete human being. With a complete family she can be resembled to. Her eyes became watery.

“Your mother,” she paused as if thinking. “Your mother is my grandmother?” she asked.

The Bishop, realising the power of this moment, did not want to interrupt her thought process with an audible voice, so he just nodded, consenting that his mother is her grandmother. He locked his hand in her and smiled sweetly at her.

“Missing my mother,” he said and both the girl and Sister Mabel kept quiet. “I think about her almost daily, but today, right now, I miss her,” he added, not expecting them to answer.

He looked around the space they were in, as if searching for something, letting his eyes catch air, he did not want her to see him cry.

“She would have loved you,” he said and looked at no one. “She would have loved you like I love you.” He lifted up his head and looked at her. “Like Sister Mabel, sorry, your mother, loves you.”

The little girl, caught up in the beauty of this moment and just nodded. She was happy to be in the warm company of her parents. She was safe and loved and protected. Sister Mabel played with her hair and teased her about her freckles.

“This hair and these freckles, these are mine.” Sister Mabel said.

“But you don’t have freckles,” she said puzzled.

“They faded away as she got a little older,” said the Bishop. “She had beautiful freckles spotted on her cheeks. They were very distinguished. Made her look like beautiful the princess she was,”

“She was, what is with the past tense?” asked Sister Mabel.

“She is,” said the little girl and the Bishop simultaneously and everyone laughed in total enjoyment.

The little girl answered many hard questions and Sister Mabel came forth with reasonable explanations which left the girl, the Bishop and herself half satisfied at times.

“I could have chosen to struggle on with you,” said Sister Mabel to the girl. “I should have chosen to struggle on with you and not worried about stigmas,” she went to give a better explanation. “Society was so unforgiving during the time I grew up and your dad was in exile,” she said tearing. “I made a lot of mistakes, the worst was not telling Donald,” she said looking at the girl. “Now we are old and our lives are wasted and that is unfair to you,” Mabel carried on. “I am asking for your forgiveness. I am asking for Donald’s forgiveness,” she said weeping.

The little girl opened the little sack she came with and took out tons and tons of letters.

“Thank you for writing to my parents and asking about me.” She said looking at Mabel. “Thank you for the money you sent,” she added. “My mother gave me all these letters you wrote and said I reserved the right to know about you and my dad,” she said crying.

The whole morning went like that. It changed from light moments of laughter to sad and cutting moments of silence and tears.

They were learning about each other. They were learning how to fit into each other’s’ worlds. They were strangers to one another yet they had been part of one another all their lives. This was their dark reality and they needed to forgive one another.

Their story was long and sad but had the potential to have a happy ending.

“I still want to live in my parents’ home, but I want to visit here every day if that is alright,” she asked.

“Yes of course,” they answers simultaneously.

They huddled together. Knitted together in love. Wrapped in the sweet embraces of the other’s arms.

“I can’t just leave, they raised me,” she said with sad tears rolling down her face.

The Bishop placed his finger over her pink shaking lips to prevent her from justifying herself any longer.

“You do what you know to be right. Worry less about us,” he said shaking.

She smiled at him. He smiled at her. They both smiled at Sister Mabel who was overwhelmed by the presence of these 2 beings in her life. She was tortured by their kindness towards her.

She sat and watched conflicted, as father and daughter tried to amend their relationship the best way they knew how. She wished she could turn back time and give them more time together. She noticed how his skin was vibrant and full of life from being in her presence. The little girl had become his hope, his truth; his true and pure love.

She will be better than I could ever be, she thought to herself as she watched how her little girl handled herself under these pressing circumstances.

The girl turned to Sister Mabel and asked a few more questions about the day she was born. The Bishop listened in total interest, learning for the first time about his child’s arrival into this world. He tried to imagine where in the world he was that day and what he might have been doing at that hour but nothing came to mind.

Sister Mabel told them as much as she remembered. She told the story like it happened yesterday. She told it with vivid descriptions and great emotion.

“What did you name me?” asked the girl.

“I did not name you,” she said. “I felt I had no right.”

“My name is Mabel,” she told them before they asked.

***

Tell us: What do you think of the Bishop missing out on Little Mabel’s life?