hugs

It is not easy to always look inside and be able to express what I actually feel. Very often I beautify or horrify the intensity of what I see. This happens when there is no understanding.

I remember very clearly how I felt when I picked up the phone to hear my father's stammering voice. I never expected that my mother would die despite being so ill. She was bed-ridden for almost a year after having her left leg amputated. A diabetic for nearly 30 years the ailments that attacked as a result of blocked blood vessels and dying nerves made her living conditions deplorable. With all the comfort money can buy, she couldn't possibly sleep for 1 hour without pains. She was on haemodialysis for 8 years and she died while the machine drew blood out from her body for cleansing since the kidneys mulfunctioned nearly a decade ago.

I can still hear it at night when all is quiet. Just at the back of my mind; the moans and the cries. I could still hear the murmurring of damning words but directed to who? I pitied and loved my mother dearly and I hated myself for not being able to do anything. I would cover my ears with two pillows and pretend that nothing had happened. After a while an unassuming guilt crept all over me. I let go of the tear-soaked pillows. I felt the warmth of the tears trickling down my cheeks. The water seeped into my favorite plush toy. I looked at its smiling bunny face and said, "Do you feel it too? You are crying as well. Let me get you a tissue."

There was never once that I would walk to my mother's room to give her a hug; to let her know that I am there and she will be alright. Maybe she was waiting for that, waiting for the support from her only child. But I failed to give her what was needed.

I recall the way she looked at me when she was pushed into the operation theatre, where they sawed off a piece of her limb. The procedure was delicate because my mother was a diabetic and her heart conditions were unfavorable. That last look as if she would never see me again. I still have visions of that when I close my eyes. When I sleep I dream of that too and I struggle to regain consciousness.

I spent 26 years in the house I live in now, with my mother. After her death I decided to renovate the whole house providing it with cosmetic changes. But it never worked for the essence remains the same. Her foot prints cannot be scrapped and removed. I can demolish the house and rebuild the entire structure, her spirit remains. It is not in the house but in every breath I take and every cell in my body; she is there. I am a part of her and when she died that part died too.

One should never take another for granted. Everything we have and embrace will soon be a passing age. Treasure each and every moment whether the moment is good or bad because sometimes a bad moment is all that we have left together.