The night it rained

"Carla," my mom yelled from downstairs. She did this every morning at nine. Never skipped a day and grudgingly, I envied her discipline. But it was her volatile temper that got us to the dining table without fail.

In general, our lives were peaceful and happy.

Then, one day, everything changed.

It was a Saturday morning. I woke up at 8:30 AM. I kept checking my phone until it was nine, but since the wake-up call never came, I fell back asleep. When I woke up again, it was eleven. The house had never been this quiet. I still remember the eerie silence that filled the room. Even thinking about it sends a shiver down my spine. When I reached the table, I only saw my mom sitting there with a helpless look on her face. But as soon as she saw me, her face lightened up, and she said, "Oh sorry, Carla, I was busy. Your breakfast is on the counter."

"Where's dad?" I enquired as I helped myself to the toast.

"He's gone to get a few groceries."

I didn't give it much thought.

When my dad did not show up by lunchtime, I started to get worried.

I asked my mom again, and she said, "It's raining. It's lovely weather, isn't it?"

My concern and paranoia grew, and I retraced my steps from this morning. I knew my mother, and she would never deviate from her usual routine. It was almost as if she could not start her day without yelling my name to come to the table every single morning. But I tried to behave like nothing was wrong. Other than the fact that she strayed from her usual routine, everything seemed normal, and so I calmed down. I decided to ignore the niggling voice in my head.

Looking back, that was a mistake.

It was time for dinner, and still no sign of my father. The rains had not let up. He was probably stuck in traffic, I tried comforting myself. I could hear the thunder getting louder outside. I began to worry and tried calling him several times. No answer. He did have the habit of occasionally disappearing as he liked his time alone. He either took a walk or shut himself in the basement where he had set up his work area. I had a feeling my mother was not telling me the whole truth. Maybe he did, but he would have come back by lunch. By dinner, he still had not returned.

Desperate, I started to head towards the basement.

My mom yelled, "No, don't go in there. A stranger came by earlier, and I…".

I cut her off by opening the basement door.

It took me minutes to comprehend what I saw. I looked at my mom, tears in my eyes.

"STRANGER? Why is dad lying down with a pool of blood around him?"

"Dad? I do not know who this man is. All I know is that while I was cleaning the basement, he showed up and tried to force his way in." my mom replied, confused. Without saying a single word, I walked with trembling legs to the phone and dialed 911.

Everything was a blur from then on. My mom was sick, and my dad was dead.

After waiting for hours in the hospital, someone walked towards me. A police officer? And a doctor. The doctor told me that my mother showed symptoms of Alzheimer's and that she would need to be taken into police custody due to the incident with my father. I do not remember anything else from that night other than the fact that I passed out right after and awoke in a hospital bed.

I woke up to a call from the care facility my mom was put in. I was told she was in serious condition, and she may not have many years left.

It had been 10 years since the incident, and I had not seen my mother. My mother's condition had worsened, and she had to be put in an assisted living facility.

She was my mother, and I had to see her one last time.

"It was not her fault," I whispered to myself as I drove. She had a brain condition and was incapable of thinking clearly, I assured myself. But deep inside, I blamed her.

As I entered her room, I only remembered that night. It was horrifying that I associated my mother's face to my father's death. I walked to her bed and broke into tears. I did not know if she could even recognize me. I waited for her to speak to me.

Looking at her condition, I realized that it was time to say our goodbyes.

She had it easy, I thought to myself. She remembered nothing.

Almost as if she read my mind, she squeezed my hand and looked at me, a smile breaking her serene face. Before easing into her final sleep, she uttered the words forever etched in my brain.

"I remember that night, as well as I, remember the rain."