Where Did Mary Go?

I've been running regularly for about 5 years now. I've even trained for a marathon a few years back. So I've piled on many miles, got my routine down, and know my routes very well. Back when I started running I had a simple goal, to make it around the neighborhood. I started heading east then north through the sub-division, turned north to head out onto Drexel Avenue, then south down 13th Street, back east and then home again. As I developed my running legs, I ventured further by winding through the parkway paths to increase my distance. After a few months I worked my way up to the 4-mile route that goes from Drexel Avenue to 13th Street to Puetz Road, then to Howell Avenue, back to Drexel and home again. The route was familiar. I know exactly where the tree branches hang too low, where the residents park their cars over the sidewalk, and the dogs bark too much. I pass the same runners going in other directions and see mostly the same people on the paths during my runs.

There is something to be said for routine. It gives me the ability to get comfortable with my surroundings. That helps me run. And running isn't easy. It takes perseverance, dedication, and imagination. All are important in keeping up the routine but the one thing that means the most is imagination. Imagination helps keep me from getting bored; it makes me forget when my shins begin to hurt and my legs start getting heavy. There are moments when I want to quit and make excuses as to why I should just start walking or turn around and go back home. Taking my mind to another place helps me get through those times and before I know it, the run gets easier and I'm back in the game.

Which brings me to Mary. Mary is a consistent figure on my path. She is always there to greet me as I go by. Her arms are stretched out as if welcoming me into them and the serene look on her face brings me a sense of calmness and reassurance to both my mind and body. Whether it’s 20 degrees outside or 90, she is there. When the wind is whipping the fall leaves swirl around her and in spring she stands in the mud after the rain has come. I can always count on Mary. She is standing 15 strides from the turn in my path. As I turn the view towards the sky is incredible. I look up and see the blue sky framed by the edges of the tree tops on all sides. After I do the sign of the cross and pray for Mary's blessing I always say out loud, "Thank you God for another day," as I peer into this little portrait of heaven. But Mary is gone now leaving me in a state of confusion.

The statue stood in the front yard of this house as long as I've been running. Once in a while I got a glimpse of the owner. He was a frail man confined to a wheelchair. I don't know if anyone else lived in the house, there were no clues to tell me one way or another. With some homes I run past I can get a pretty close idea of the family that lives there. The swing sets and small bicycles tell of toddlers, the 10-speeds and skateboards hint of teens, and the houses with four or more cars tell me the kids have grown. But this home had no real signs of life outside of the man in the wheelchair seldomly sitting in his garage. There was a car in the garage so either he could drive it himself, but I doubted that since there was no handicapped plates or hang tag, or someone else lived there, but I also doubted that or he just kept his car even though he couldn't drive it anymore. My theory is that he couldn't give up his car even if he couldn't drive it – sort of giving up a last piece of independence.

As the years passed there were small hints of change. Five years ago the grass was always cut and the trimming was done. Mary stood among the flower bed, no weeds to bother her. As time passed, the grass stood taller around Mary, but the grass was still cut. I wondered about the old man. Was it getting harder for him to find someone to help? I doubt that he could do the yard work. Maybe he couldn't afford to pay someone anymore. I worried. This spring things got much worse. The grass wasn't cut at all. It got taller and taller. It finally got cut but since that time, it's never been kept as groomed as it used to be. I couldn't help but think about whether the old man was OK or not.

Today I think the message was clear. He is not OK. Today the house has a ‘for sale’ sign in front of it and Mary is gone. Gone. I almost stopped in my tracks. She is gone. I turned the corner trying to push on in my usual fashion, looked up and said my words in prayer..."Thank you God for another day," without much feeling. I did push on. My thoughts were making me dizzy. I wondered why I was so upset over a silly little statue. It seemed a little crazy. It's just a cheezy version of Mary, Mother of Jesus in the flower bed. I can still offer a prayer when I go by, but it's just not the same. And what of the old man? Is he dead? Gone to a nursing home? Where did he go?

My brain tells me that it's just a symbolic gesture and I can continue with the same routine even without Mary if I really want to. I think part of my problem is how important this was in my routine. It's like taking a piece of my daily life and removing it without notice. I’m thinking about calling the realtor. I need to know about the old man.

On a selfish note, I wonder if Mary is for sale.