Yesterday I received an unexpected phone call from my mother's hair stylist, who called me to let me know that she was worried about my mother. It seems that she had been doing Mum's hair, as she does every three weeks, when my mother, the most private and secretive person I have known, broke down in her chair. She spoke of not just not having a life, but of having nothing to live for. That this is the third time she's lived in Arizona, and each time she does, she has her heart broken. That she feels lost and alone and broken.

That she feels this way isn't much of a surprise. She was supposed to have been married last month, to a man she's known for about 5 years. In April, she sent me and my sisters a text message, saying only "Wedding off. Insurmountable probs. Talk about it next winter." We could get no more information from her than that. My husband, Pwyll, and I had already purchased our plane tickets to fly out for the wedding, so we went anyway, and I'm glad that we did. And while we were there, she seemed to be doing alright. She and her, what?--boyfriend? fiance? partner?--seemed to still be speaking, and she said that there would most likely be a wedding eventually, but that things were too complicated to go forward with it right now. 

But since Pwyll and I returned to Virginia, things in my mother's life seem to have gone downhill. I understand from my sister that my mother and her man have split up for good now, although she doesn't know the reason any more than I do. We talk on the phone every few days, and she seems even quieter and more withdrawn than usual. When I ask her how she's doing, she assures me that she's fine and will let me know if she needs anything. I don't believe either piece of it, though. 

My heart breaks for her, but I am helpless to ease her pain. She deserved, and deserves still, to find happiness. She's a good woman, a woman who ought to be loved by a good man. Her marriage to my father was worse than miserable for years and years before she finally ended it, and she's waited 10 years to try marriage again. And now, for some reason, she's lost this second chance at happiness. I fear she won't try again this time, and that she'll resign herself to a life alone.

Pwyll  reassures me that Mum already does have love in her life: the love of me and my siblings, of her few friends, and of her beloved dogs and cats. But it's clear that she wants and needs more than that. I so hope she finds it.