Marley's Memoir: The Journey to an Irreversible Action and the Aftermath

On a cold, cloudless December morning, I experienced the most traumatic event of my life.

I woke up quite early, as usual, to have a quiet time of prayer and reading my Bible and a devotional. I read the verse of the day and then went on to read about a woman named Martha who was in a refugee camp and had experienced the traumatic loss of her family; rebels had broken into her home and killed her husband and two of her sons whilst she and her 6-month-old son hid. I couldn’t begin to imagine the pain and agony she must have gone through and silently asked, “God, how could you have allowed this to happen?”

Little did I know that Martha’s story was preparing me for what I would be facing in a little under two hours. I was also astounded by Martha’s faith and joy, which the author of the devotional wanted to bring to light. Despite the tragic loss of her family, she was full of joy, supporting the other refugees in the camp and ministering to them.

I finished my quiet time and proceeded to get ready for work. It was a Friday, the end of my work week. I was looking forward to some downtime, but of course I had to get through Friday first.

As I prepared for working from home, I went downstairs to boot up my laptop, turn off the outside light, and open the curtains. I was surprised that the light was still on, as this indicated that Marley hadn’t left for his paper round. I checked the back door as is my usual routine but didn’t realise the door wasn’t locked until I came back downstairs the second time. I took out the washing from the washing machine with the intention of taking the bedsheets to hang outside when I came back downstairs.

Second time round, I noticed the back door leading to the garden wasn’t locked with the key and assumed my younger son had left it unlocked after leaving for his paper round early in the morning. I thought he had got up when I went back upstairs.

I went back upstairs again and finished off getting ready whilst informing my husband that the back door was unlocked and our youngest must have left it open in his rush not to be late for his paper round.

I was back downstairs for the third time, and since it was cloudy and cold, I thought I would only hang out the bedsheet and put the rest of the clothing on the clothes airer.

I grabbed the navy-blue sheet, opened the door leading to the garden from the utility room, and saw something that no mother ever wants to see. Am I awake? I asked myself. Am I really seeing what I’m seeing? Is it my imagination or is the sight in front of me for real? I must be in a trance because this can’t be real. It’s not true; it must be a mirage.

In those few seconds, which felt like hours, I refused to accept that what I was seeing was reality. I felt I must still be asleep and having a nightmare.

I was in shock. I couldn’t move for those few seconds, and then I shouted, “Marley, Marley!”

The sound of my voice didn’t even seem like mine. I ran towards the mirage that unfortunately was reality.