Mary of Magdala

He called my name.
My heart skipped a beat
and I knew
that it was him,
Jesus.
How
I didn’t know,
and
I didn’t care.
He was here.
He was alive.
He was talking with me
and
that was all that mattered.
I wanted
so much
to hug him;
to hold him;
hold him so tightly
to make sure
he was real;
to make sure
he couldn’t go away
again.

It had been
so sudden;
so traumatic.
I had believed
that he would always
be there,
always
be there
for me.
and then
he was gone.
I was left
alone,
and
I couldn’t cope.
I wanted him,
I needed him,
there
with me
all the time.
And now
he was back.

But,
there was something
different.
Something
had changed.
He wouldn’t let me
hold him.
I looked up
at him,
puzzled,
pained.
Did he not know
how much
I needed
to touch him;
to reassure myself
that he was real;
to show
how much
I had missed him?
Then,
he looked at me
the way only he could;
looked
into my eyes;
into my soul
and all the broken pieces
of my heart;
of my life
were put back
in place;
put back
together again.
And
something more
was added,
something of him
like
the glue
that would
hold my heart,
hold me,
together.

Suddenly
I no longer
needed
to hold him.
He was there
with me;
inside me,
for always;
for ever.
So
when he told me
to go
and tell the others
I could go.
I could leave him,
knowing that
in some
strange
inexplicable
way
I wasn’t leaving him.
He was coming with me.
And
he would be with me
always.

Rabboni,
I love you.
I love you so much.



© Kathleen Wilks