From Fiona Ambrose’s memoirs: Daughters of All and Nothing
It was like holding back a dam. Father O’Brawley, despite his gruff demeanor, reminded me of the grandfather I never knew but always wanted. The old priest didn’t pressure me or even coax me but simply waited for me to talk.
And I did.
In the confession booth I poured out my heart and soul, forcing all my burdens through the thin wall that separated us and right on to the shoulders of the kindly old priest.
I told him everything, beginning with Faye’s death. A maelstrom of emotions had been swirling inside me and now that they had an outlet, a torrent of half-sobbed truths spilled from my lips as I told my story. I just wanted someone, anyone to believe me! To reassure me that I was still sane!
Father O’Brawley sat quietly, letting me vent all of these frustrations with only the occasional murmur in a soothing tone. I told him of coming to the city, seeing my dead sister in the street and my eventual breakdown which caused me to seek professional help at the hospital. By the time I was through, I was breathless and doing my best to keep from crying any further. I had completely unburdened myself, explaining the humiliation of being laughed out of the police station and of the lonely, sleepless nights spent questioning my own sanity.
I even spoke of the hope I had found in Mr. Broker.
Though I desperately wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to tell the old priest about the events at the Hell Scratch or even what happened at the pawnshop just a few hours ago. I was still trying to come to terms with that myself.
As I tried to compose myself, Father O’Brawley sat quietly as if digesting my confession. Knots formed in my stomach as I waited for his reply. I knew any rational human being, no matter how kind, would want me sent to rehab or the mental hospital again.
Instead of excusing himself to go call a social worker, Father O’Brawley stepped out of the confession booth and opened the door to mine. Taking me by the hand he drew me into a big hug. His frail body seemed to radiate a strength and compassion that soothed my warring emotions.
“Lass.” The old priest whispered, “God is always watching. Facing these trials, no matter how unusual they be, will strengthen you. Pray and trust in His divine grace and love.“
So overwhelmed with relief and gratitude, I was worried that I might start crying again. The only person I could ever confide in was my sister. Only Faye had soothed me when I was upset. Not my distant father and certainly not my demanding mother. No, Faye had been my one confidant…the only one I could put all my faith and trust into.
I missed Faye so bad it ached but the kindness the old priest had shown me soothed wounds I hadn’t even been aware of.
After breaking the fatherly embrace, Father O’Brawley suggested we go and speak with Mr. Broker. We had been gone quite some time and hopefully he had made some progress with the mysterious collection Faye had pawned.
When opening the door to the priest’s office, I let out a small scream.