I’ve been thinking how…unsatisfactory the response to Margaret was. So, I did some soul searching and now I am live blogging like a fekkin medium channeling Margaret. She has a lot to say about NOTHING RELEVANT.
Margaret just wants to on and on about HAYTHAM. Her HUSBAND. When he smiled his eyes crinkled around the edges and he lost a molar when he was younger and so he smiles to one side and looks roguishly handsome at the age of forty two. He had brown hair with dusty trails in it. Margaret ignored several suits from other men and broke off an engagement because she was WAITING FOR HAYTHAM.
Margaret loves roses because they take a lot of hard work and are delicate and stately. She cried when her son first got hold of her tiny garden and trampled a rose bush. Of course, Michael was crying, too, because roses hurt. Margaret learned to forgive loss and accept the memories of things lost to be far more valuable than the pain of loss itself. Love is renewable, after all. Loss fades over time.
Michael was born frail and Margaret, an old mother, was exhausted for days after the birth. Haytham probably drank enough coffee to kill him. Michael took after his grandfather on him mother’s side–fair like an angel. He was a sweet kid who loved dirt and dogs.
Look, so, Haytham took Michael for a “boy’s day” so Margaret could take a day off to love roses and drink tea (with a bit of strong). She didn’t learn until much later that her son and husband were gone; evaporated like a localized Hiroshima.
While she was numb a black dog came to her door and scratched and whined until she let it in. Then she dreamed what to do. What she couldn’t find, the dog found. When she didn’t resurface after her husband and son died, her family decided she had died with them.
She made a crooked peace with the death of her son and husband while gathering her materials for the crossroads ritual. When we see her she is sad and hanging to thing world by a thread.