ANGEL BY MY SIDE
Mary
I have my talents and passions, and consider myself resourceful and tenacious, but was severely humbled when I decided to take a friends’ suggestion and build myself a website in order to create a platform to blog about my recent, extensive, solo travel experiences. “Just go on Squarespace and follow the tutorials. It’s easy” she assured me. So, stranded for 2 ½ months in Salem, Massachusetts when Covid shut my travels down, it seemed like a good time to take this project on. I had some inspired ideas, and anticipated that I’d have the basic template laid out by noon and then spend the rest of the day happily lost in my reckless abandon of creativity to satisfy my perfectionistic nature. Maybe by the end of the week I’d even be brave enough to publish it, with only my uber fine tuning obsession holding me back. But instead, after watching countless tutorials all throughout the day, I learned that my natural talents do not exist in website building, and, if it really was “easy”, then I must be inept. By the end of the day I was deflated.
My experience over the next few weeks was absolutely confidence shattering. No matter which tutorial I watched, I simply could not grasp the concepts. I reached out to my tech savvy friends who readily helped me, but they had no idea how big the chasm was from connecting me with their help. I was too embarrassed to confess, so I moved on to the next person, then the next. I investigated different platforms, thinking that Squarespace must be the most complicated of them all, but this was also futile. Each morning, in my determination and refusal to accept my ineptness, I cleared the weight of the failure from the day before and began again. But eventually, weary, alone and 3,000 miles from home, I realized that my mental health was suffering, and I quietly quit.
Some months later after returning home, and with my confidence restored to my baseline, my desire to start a blog persisted, and I was ready to try again. I did some research and found that WordPress was rated to have the best support, and even boasted a Facebook group specifically for WordPress users. I peeked in and was encouraged to find the experts to be supportive and helpful, and it felt like a safe space for me to jump in to receive support. Slowly I began to gain bits of understanding, confidence, and even claim some progress. I was impressed with the generosity of the experts’ time to help the fledglings, but there was one who stood out from the rest. Mary was usually the first one to answer my inquiries, and was great at simplifying to my level of understanding. One day she chimed in to my question of the day, eager to help, but I was having difficulty grasping the concept. She direct-messaged me and moved me to the privacy of her personal care and encouragement, and patiently walked me through each step until I was able to accomplish the task. I was grateful for her patience, and cognizant that she was taking more than an hour out of her day just to help me. I thanked her profusely, and left feeling empowered, encouraged and with a very happy heart, deeply sensing that she had no ulterior motives other than pure kindness.
Since that day, for a reason I still haven’t been able to completely grasp, Mary has taken me under her expert, easy going angelic wings, and has found her way to being the administrator and caretaker of my now launched website. Whenever I show up with questions, she is there, always responsive and available with her friendly expert help. I want to believe that we have become friends, but I’m stuck in this space of feeling deeply in debt even though she’s never alluded to this. I’ve offered to pay her and she swiftly brushes aside the gesture. I offer to send her referrals, and she laughs, saying she has more work than she can handle.
This is what it looks like when she shows up for me…
We met in person once when I was driving through her town on a road trip several months after she came into my life. By then, I had learned that she is a single mom to 3 grown boys, one of which is severely disabled, and who would be joining us for our meet up for coffee and a walk along their local pier. I was looking forward to spending some non-computer time with this special woman, and also, admittedly, somewhat concerned about sharing our time with the unknowns of her sons’ disability. But I trusted Mary, and decided to simply show up and experience whatever the day would hold.
I met Mary and Tom at a local coffee shop and then we rode together in her van to the pier. Tom, 20 at the time, was born with a rare genetic disorder called Coffin-Siris Syndrome, that to the casual onlooker appears to be another one of life’s cruel fates. He is in a wheelchair, has never been able to speak, his face fallen, drool falling down his chin, and the only sounds coming from him are grunts. To me they sound only as frustration, but to his mom, he clearly communicates his delights and needs and emotions. He is strapped into his chair, a precaution, she tells me, as he will try to climb out and escape, toddling down the pier, maybe even managing to climb over the railing into the sea. She speaks freely about her son to me, explaining who he is in his disability as well as who he is separate from his disability. I observe how she spoon feeds him some ice cream, wipes his chin, and I listen as she tells me about her full life – the art class and theology course she is enrolled in, and her work building websites which she loves, and she is clearly enriched in her role of mom and caretaker to her son. Mary’s manner is light, and easily flows in and out of our conversation to tend to Tom. She reports to me that he is in a good mood and that he likes me. “It’s a good day for him,” she concludes as the three of us head back to her van. It was also a good day for me.
We often go many months without being in touch, but whenever I need help, or when she reaches out to me when my website needs attention, Mary consistently shows up in her familiar, friendly and encouraging self. I am now more comfortable accepting her help, and recently told her how much I appreciate her in my life. Her response, “I appreciate you too, Alyson”.
