A Christmas back home

My mum

Alone in the quiet of my room, I sat and picked up the frame on the side drawer, staring at a photograph of you. The edges were slightly worn, but the smile you wore in the picture was as bright as the sun. I remember that day when I clicked this picture of you sitting on the roof of this very house which you loved so much. You looked so happy, so content. I clutched the frame, “Oh, my mother, do I miss you. I can’t express enough how much I miss you. This world is a wicked place without you.”

"Is it necessary? Can I live without you? No. Do I have a choice? No. But why me?" My voice cracked, and I shook my head. “Why did it have to be me?”

I looked back at the photograph. “You never showed me how difficult it would be to live without you, oh my mother. You shielded me from the true colors of people. I’m realizing now how cruel the world can be.”

You complained of a slight stomach pain, and we didn’t think much of it. I replay that memory over and over, questioning why we hadn’t taken it more seriously. You had always been resilient, never one to complain about discomfort, so we assumed it was nothing significant.

As the night wore on, your pain must have worsened, but you never voiced it. You stayed quiet, we all slept, but you didn't protecting everyone else from worry. The following day, we took you to the hospital, expecting nothing more than a routine check-up. The initial assurances from the staff seemed to support our optimism. It was “just a drip,” one doctor said. Yet, as time dragged on and more tests were conducted, my unease grew.

I tried to remain composed, even urging family members to go back home. “It’s nothing serious,” I had said. But my words lacked conviction, and no one heeded my advice. Soon, a doctor informed us that you needed to be transferred to the ICU. My heart sank. I watched helplessly as the nurses prepared you. They told everybody to go out. I was the only one allowed to stay in the room with you, changing your clothes, taking off your nosepin that you never took off. And inserting tubes, the sound of you gagging as the pipes went in, I couldn't continue. I wanted to run. It haunted me, an unbearable reminder of my helplessness. But I stood nearby, praying silently, my tears flowing freely. Even the hospital staff, moved by my anguish, couldn’t hold back their own emotions.

Later, I was asked to leave by your side and go out to sign some paperwork, requiring me to step away momentarily. On my way out, I saw Theo walking into the ward with a group of doctors. I asked him what was happening, but he shushed me, his face etched with worry. He hurried toward your room, leaving me even more anxious.

When everybody insisted I leave the hospital that night, I protested fiercely, clinging to the belief that you would be fine. Eventually, I relented, but only after making everyone promise that I would be the first to see you in the morning. I returned as soon as I could, rushing to the ICU. Yet, when I reached your bed, I was struck by how much your condition had deteriorated. The vibrant woman I had known seemed to be slipping away, and no amount of praying or pleading felt sufficient.

That night, as Theo stayed with you, I stayed at Theo's house. I clung to a faint hope for a miracle. But before I woke up the next morning, the call came. She was gone. My mother was gone.

They buried you...Oh! So quickly, and it all seemed unreal and soon everyone left. After a few days. Alone, I sat in my room when Theo came silently

After a long pause, Theo spoke, his voice steady." She's in a better place, you know." I couldn't look up, so he continued, “Your mother was the strongest, most loving person I’ve ever known. She’d want you to carry that strength with you. To live a life she would be proud of.”

I wiped my tears. “I know, Theo. But it’s so hard. This grief… it’s suffocating.”

Theo stood and extended a hand to me. “Let’s take it one step at a time. Come on. Let’s go for a walk. Fresh air might help.”

I hesitated but finally took his hand. As we walked out into the crisp morning air, I looked up at the sky.

“I hope to see you someday soon, Mother,” I murmured. “I love you so much.”

Theo squeezed my hand gently. “She’s watching over you, Su. Always.”

And for the first time in days, I felt a small, fleeting sense of peace.