A Mother's Love

         The sun reaches my eyes as I yawn, feeling the golden warmth across my bed sheets and the weight of said bed sheets across my midline. The room echoes with the sound of my bed frame rolling across the floor, squeaky and heavy, as I stagger up and rub my eyes, looking around my moderately furnished room to try and wrangle my vision back from the Sandman. The blue beanbag chair in the corner, the small set of oak shelves with my favorite used books messily arranged inside, the desk where the picture of me and my girlfriend sits, both of us smiling as we celebrate our 1 year anniversary - everything feels perfect. A small sigh goes through me as I sit in the morning glow for a minute.

         I eventually lean on the wall as I walk down the short hall and descend the stairs, my long-sleeve tee somehow getting caught on the banister and almost tripping me as I walk to the kitchen, the simple but homey décor greeting me as steam rises from a cup of tea on the counter and a plate of pancakes. My footsteps echo as I walk over and take the dish, grabbing the tea right after as I make my way over to the small dining table against the wall, right near the window where I can see a deer run away rapidly.

         "Thanks, Mom!" I call out, even though I don't have to speak nearly that loud. My voice, quiet as it may be on most days, rings through the house, bouncing off the walls like a rogue pinball. She had to have heard me in this empty place. Dad wasn't around anymore, neither were my siblings, so it's not like their bodies would be able to dampen the sound or their voice provide any interference. I'm greeted by a cold echo of reverberation and sigh as I slip into a chair and enjoy the little peace and quiet afforded to me before I had to launch into my job. They let me work remote today, thankfully, which keeps me out of the cold and away from a lot of the people who give me frigid looks as they pass by my desk.

         I watch the birds at the feeder, flapping their wings as they pecked at the seeds, frost at the bottom of the window and the sky a brighter blue now that the sun has risen higher in the sky. I shiver a little, but am happy with the sights as I enjoy the syrupy goodness and the warm herbal notes that grace my palate. I wish I could stay like this forever, in the peace and serenity, but my boss expected me to be on at a certain point, so I couldn't get too lost in my thoughts, which in of itself was a luxury to me.

         I place my sticky plate in the dishwasher and step quietly up the creaky steps, listening for any noises, but receiving nothing. A good sign. While my laptop boots up, I change into a short sleeve tee and loose pants, a grey sweatshirt, and put my hair into a small but decent ponytail. It's been getting pretty long recently, but my girlfriend likes playing with it while she gets her blood transfusions. Or anytime she needs to kill time. And I don't hate it. I used to, but with her, being touched is different.

         I hear the tell-tale sound coming from my device and rush over, logging in to the desktop and then logging into the job software that took me so long to get a hold of. My mom's not the best when it comes to tech, so I never asked her for help, but sometimes I feel like she's watching over my shoulder when I'm working in the kitchen, just to see what it's like. Her perfume gives her away every time.

         There are already 5 tasks in my queue when I bring up my dashboard, 2 with an exclamation point, meaning their due today. A deep sigh makes my entire body heave as I click on them, then pause to click on a different tab and switch on my music playlist. Sing-songwriter, my favorite, mixed with some soundtrack, courtesy of my girlfriend's expert taste. It helps her feel a little more alive.

         I know I keep talking about her, but you'd gush too if someone changed your life in an instant.

         Now that everything's in place, I can finally start the day. Headphones on, blanket wrapped around me, work tasks up, and a sunny day without pain or struggle. Today, life was good for once.

         Time moves so fast, or maybe I'm just hyper-focused on not embarrassing myself online, and before I know it, my stomach's growling and I feel weak. My legs betray me as I stand up and immediately fall onto the ground, but miraculously there was a pile of clothes on the floor so my tumble only resulted in a slight bruise as my hip hit the side of the laundry basket, but otherwise, my knees hit the fabric cushion and kept me from further injury. My mom must have brought them in while I was working, and I didn't even hear her open the door. I stumbled out of the basket, popped open the door, and leaned out into the vacant hallway, my hand keeping me upright as it grasped the doorframe.

         "Thanks for the clothes, Mom!" I call out again, and just like before, I'm met with an echoing quiet. There's a bit of noise coming from her room, similar to jazz music or some sort of podcast, along with the sound of slight bumping around. I let off a sympathetic sigh and carefully walk down the stairs, making myself a turkey and cheese sandwich with a pickle spear and some chips on the side. A big glass of water sits right beside the plate, and my phone lays propped up against the flower vase as I watch whatever YouTube recommends for me. Today, it's a deep dive on a video game I liked as a kid. There's nothing's like a warm sandwich and a bit of nostalgia for something that carried me through bad times.

         The music's even louder now as I make my way upstairs, dishes in the dishwasher, and the sound of footsteps dance across the floor, muffled slightly by the rug in her room that she had gotten on a trip to Morocco with my dad. I smile a little and open the door to my room to once again enter corporate hell and create money for a company that treats their workers like numbers. It's kind of funny, honestly; as a teen I would have killed for a job like this to claw my way out of the cyclical foster care hell I was dropped into, but now that I have it, the mundanity of it all is killing me even more.

         At least it keeps me busy long enough to finish the day without much mental effort on my part, and before I know it, I'm clocking out and pushing myself away from my desk, accidentally pressing my bruised hip against the side of the chair and wincing in pain. The aching pain in my shoulder sings along, and I know the sunny day isn't going to last much longer as the clouds gather outside my window and the temperature drops. I can feel it. At least it was generous enough to wait for me to finish first.

         I spend the next couple hours wrapped in a blanket cloak, alternating between sketching my new comic post and talking with Nari, who was in similar attire but in the process of jewelry making. It just so happened to be raining in both our states and both of our string of lights had come on at around the same time. She has the nicest laugh; not even the slight gauntness of her face could dim her spark. It's mid afternoon for her when I'm finally able to pick up on the smells of dinner, signing off with a hug to the camera and slippery fingers that almost made me drop my phone. Just my luck, you know?

         A bowl of butternut squash soup, some warm slices of bread, and a plate of green beans await me as I step into the kitchen, the lights on and the sky dark as water starts to rap against the glass and the pain in my shoulder increases. It's only after I get closer that I see the microwave-safe pillow on the counter as well, already warm. The pot of soup was still on the counter, as was the bowl the green beans had been steamed in, but my mom wasn't there herself. I roll my shoulders back, take the pillow, place it on my shoulder, and sit down, closing my eyes and folding my hands not in prayer but in solemn gratefulness. I wish we could just have a meal together like we used to. But she's always so busy.

         The warmth of the soup soothed me as I sat there in the quiet, the small hum of the heating unit echoing in the vents, and I don't realize how hungry I am until I'm walking up to the pot for seconds. Maybe it's the rain. Maybe it's the workload. Maybe it's just my usual limited diet catching up to me. Either way, I polish off another bowl and reach for the green beans. They're nice and snappy still, not too soft. The heat of the pillow is starting to dim by this point and I go to place it back in the microwave.

         But as the pillow spins around slowly, I hear the sound of footsteps from my mom's bedroom, a soft look crossing my face as I start for the steps once more. Closer to the door I get before I rap a couple times on the wooden surface and slowly turn the knob, peeking in, carefully holding the frame.

         The room is empty. It's been empty for a while now. And dark. I slowly approach the dresser on the other side of the room, the boards creaking under my feet as I hold my hand out. I know the layout by now; you get used to things when you've done it so many times. My hand finds purchase in something thin and long along the dresser's surface, lightweight and a constant source of fear my entire life. But it doesn't scare me as much anymore, at least not right now. I hook my finger along the object's provided loop and press, a brilliant flicker of flame erupting from the tip as I stare into it, then lean forward to light each of the 7 candles that lay along the dresser, providing light enough to illuminate the pictures of my mom on the dresser, her smiling face warm and comforting. One of them is of the whole family, before everything happened. Before I happened. I couldn't find any pictures of me with them.

         I look to my side and pull up a chair, sitting down in front of the pictures and candles and herbs and oils and trinkets that Nari had helped me to curate about a year ago. It always smells so good in here because of that. I'm quiet for a couple minutes, and then I lean on the front space of the dresser surface, starting to cry softly, not loudly, but enough to make me shake in my seat as I lower my head.

         The footsteps again. A cold breeze wraps around me, enveloping my torso and shoulders, and staying there for several minutes as I cry. I can't make out the blurry words I hear, but they sound warm. From my position, I smile, still shaking, but taking a couple breaths to calm down as the breeze persists.

         "I miss you so much, Mom," I whisper, and the breeze encroaches a bit more, but I happily accept it, lifting my head to watch the candles flicker and a couple of the lavender sprigs float.

         "Thank you for everything," I added, still in a choked whisper but smiling more. I hear more blurry noises, this time almost sounding like sobbing, but happy, if that makes sense. I reach forward to say some words and burn some incense -rose and jasmine- as the rain continues to fall and I feel the breeze concentrate next to me, only feeling it on my shoulder and then a small bit on my forehead.

         Then it's gone.

         I haven't seen her face since I was 3. I haven't seen any of my family's faces since then. But a mother's love never dies, even if the physical body does. And I know she's looking out for me.

         Now to go clean those pots and get some nice hot tea, just like she likes it. I'm sure she'd appreciate a nice cookie too after working so hard today. Snickerdoodle, her favorite. And mine.