All That Matters

My next-door neighbour, Mabel, started getting sick when I was quite young. She was a nice old lady with a lot of spunk, for her age. She had fluffy white hair and smiling eyes. Mabel grew beautiful apple trees in her back yard and in my spare time, I would go over and help her pick the apples. At the end of the day or when we grew tired, she’d cook an apple pie and we’d sit down together and talk.

When she started getting sick all that changed. A lot of the life in her eyes faded and she lost the skip in her step. My mother told me she had arthritis. I would ask Mabel if she was in a lot of pain. She would look down at me, smile, pat me on the head and say, “No dear.” No matter what she said, I could see in her eyes that she was hurting a lot.

I would still go over to Mabel’s house to pick the apples as I grew older, but after a while Mabel was no longer able to take the long walk down to the trees. She was also unable to cook the apple pie so, I took on the task of picking the apples and cooking the pie. She would sit at the table watching and helping me. After a few tries and always under her watchful gaze, my pies were almost as good as Mabel’s famous apple pie. We even made a special one for my tenth birthday.

As Mabel’s condition worsened, I began going to her house everyday after school. Mabel's face would light up as I walked through the creaky old gate, the twinkle in her eyes would almost come back. Soon Mabel was no longer able to walk at all. I would go over to her house and tidy up. She had to get a nurse in to look after her and her beautiful apple trees began to die

One day, a few months before my eleventh birthday, when I returned home from school, my mother sat me down and told me I couldn’t go around to Mabel's house anymore. I cried and asked why. She told me Mabel had gone to heaven and wasn’t coming back. I cried for days but left it at that.

As I grew older I found myself thinking of dear old Mabel. I became curious about how she died. So when I was fourteen, I confronted Mum. She told me Mabel had rheumatoid arthritis and was in a lot of pain, her condition worsened as she grew weaker and then her heart gave out. My mother told me that she died peacefully in her sleep.

When I turned eighteen my mother handed me an envelope. She told me Mabel asked her to give it to me on my eighteenth birthday. In it was an old photo of Mabel and I. We were standing in front of the once glorious apple trees. There was also a recipe for her apple pie, some apple seeds and a letter, which said:

Dear Rose,
          My darling, I hope you are well. You were always a beautiful child and I hope that you have grown up into a beautiful young woman. I loved you very much. You were like a granddaughter to me. In this envelope I have enclosed my recipe for apple pie, which we used quite often, some apple seeds for you to plant if you wish. Going out to the backyard and picking the apples was a great joy to me. There is also a photo of us in front of the old trees before I began getting sick. I was most likely never able to thank you. ‘For what?’ I can hear you asking. Well, for looking after me. When I began getting sick, you stayed by me. You made it worth the pain of waking each day. You helped me with the chores but merely being there was the greatest help you could have ever thought of doing. As you grow older I pray that you are lucky enough to meet someone like yourself, so that your life can be filled with joy. Like mine was because of you.
Yours Lovingly
Mabel Nichels