The Sorrowful Mysteries

            “Let us pray the Holy Rosary. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” 

“Amen.”

            “I believe in God, the Father Almighty, creator of…”

            I was in my room, lying on my bed.  From the open door of my room, I could see my mother.  She was there kneeling in front of the small altar in our house.  She was there for a long time now.  She never moved.  She was just there – hands clutched above her chest, her eyes fixed on the floor, on the dusty floor of our house.  She never said a word.  She never talked to me.

            “Ma, don’t you want to go to sleep?  It’s almost one in the morning.”

            “Go ahead my son, I will sleep afterwards.”

            I laid my head on my bed and thought of what my mother might have been doing.  It was so strange.  I never saw her so much troubled like this before.  I felt that something is not right.

            “Ma… Ma… where are you, ma?”

            I saw my mother early in the morning, standing by the door.  She was just there looking outside, looking at the people passing by our house.  There were so many of them, all were in a hurry.  Some of them brought their children.  Some of them went in groups, men and women of all ages and civil status.

            My mother took my hand and we made haste to go where the crowd was going.  My feet were stepped upon over a hundred times.  I want to cry.  I want to go home but my mother took a tight hold of my small hands.  I don’t want to go.  My stomach was grumbling – I never had my breakfast.  The commotion brought us to the plaza.  But I can’t see what was happening because of the many people, and I am but a small boy.

            My mother stood still, looking at the center of the open field.  She let go of my hands and held her hands over her chest.  Her eyes were full of sadness.  My mother wanted to cry.  I saw teardrops wanting to fall from her eyes but they cannot.  My mother’s face was cold.  She was terrified, she was troubled, and she was in pain.  People were shouting, but I never understand what they were saying.  A loud scream from the middle of the plaza froze my mother to her place for some moment.

            “Ma, are you alright?”

            “Yes.”

            “It’s already noon. My stomach is empty. I haven’t taken my breakfast yet.”

            It was almost three in the afternoon and we were still in the plaza.  Suddenly, the crowd began to move.  Some of them ran, some of them walked; some were crying, others were laughing, some were shouting, others were whispering.  The people followed the officers guiding them.  The guards brought bars to strike whoever might cause trouble to the people.  An officer looked at me ferociously and smiled with a grin.  I stared at him and pretend that I am not afraid of him.

            I was scared of the sight.  I was frightened.  I really don’t want to go.  I just want to go home and play with my friends.  I let go of my mother’s hand and ran home.  I never looked back; I never wanted to go back.  I kept on running.  I fell down to the dusty ground.  No one noticed me.  No one cared.  No one wanted to help.  I helped myself up my feet.  Tears began making their way from my eyes down to my cheeks.  I ran  away from that noisy place, from that horrible place.

            I was running for a long time but I was going no nearer to our house.  Then the clouds began to cover the sky.  It began to grow dark.  In no time, the bright sky was turned to a dark night.  Lightning was the only light that made it possible for me to see the ground.  But the thunders scared me.

            “Mama! Mama! Where are you!? Mama! Has anybody seen my mama!?”

            I was in the middle of nowhere.  People ran passed by me.  But no Mama showed up.  I cried aloud with all my voice until I pant.  A loud scream of a man scared me more.  The man shouted really loud together with the loud roar of thunder.  Out of nowhere, I felt a hand grabbing my hand tightly.

            "It is done!," shouted the man.

             It is done. I am done.  I will die in this place.  I will never see my mama again.  I will die in the midst of this crowd, in the darkness of this day.

“Mama!  Mama!”

My mother embraced me tightly.  I felt secured and comforted.  I never wanted that moment to end.  I never want to leave her arms.

“Mama… your hands… they’re bleeding.  Your clothes, mama, they are bleeding.”

“He’s gone.”

“Who? Who is gone mama?”

“Your brother.”

“I have a brother?  How? Wh…”

She took a glance at a huge piece of wood standing behind me.  I took all courage to look up too.  I saw there a man, no it is not a man, it is… he is covered with wounds.

“Mama!  He cannot move! His hands… his feet… let us help him down mama!”

My mother took me in her arms again.  I can feel her pain.  I can feel her sorrow.  I can feel her heart being torn to pieces by the sight.  I can sense the ache she felt while standing there next to the man nailed on the huge wood.

I cannot bear the sight.  I cannot look at it any longer.  I threw myself to my mother’s arms and cried.  I cried aloud.  I felt sorry for the man nailed up there.  I felt sorry for my mother for losing her son.  I felt sorry for myself for failing to know my brother so soon.

From behind me, I heard a guard said: “Truly this man is God’s Son!”

I cried.  And I cried aloud.  I cried aloud until I faint.

…

“Pray for us, O Holy Mother of God…”

“…that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.”

I took my pen and my notebook and wrote: “Lord Jesus, I am sorry for caring too much for myself that I forget you.  I am sorry for failing to love your mother, Mary.  I am sorry for failing to love you.  Please forgive me, Lord, my GOD.  Amen.”

“…and may the blessings of the Almighty God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, descend upon us and be with us always.”

“Amen.”

“Mary, Queen of the Most Holy Rosary…”

“Pray for us.”