Rated: E · Short Story · Drama · #2125171
A mother must cope with the loss of her daughter and the tumbling blocks of life.
|How long had she been in here this time? She'd seen so much of this room since the accident occurred that she had memorized every mark, scratch, divot, indentation, and dilation in the paint on the accent wall. She had every part of that wall put to memory despite her suffering. All she needed to do was glance at a spot to recognize its particular feature. She could make out pictures in the imperfections; connecting the dots to see faces or shapes by drawing mental lines. Of all the faces she had seen, none of them seemed of the cheerful sort.|
She laid there, staring at the same spot for what seemed like hours, even forever. The clouded sunlight through the darkened blinds was the only source of light permitted in the room. Even that was too bright for her. Had she opened the shutters she would be blinded. Refuge in the darkness may have very well been her fate.
It hurt too much to move or make even the slightest adjustment. The excruciating pain pillaging her muscles and joints discouraged any change in her posture, submitting her to the fetal position on the bed. She had both arms clasped tightly together between her thighs like they had been tied-up to keep her from moving, her forehead nearly resting on one knee.
From her rheumy, nearly closed eyes, a single tear brushed the bridge of her nose and began to fall. She watched the tear as time seemed to slow to a crawl; her whole world was held in this speck of fluid from her cornea. With a splash, the tear; her world, crashed into the comforter, darkening the maroon in a depressant plum.
“It's okay mom,” said the pale young lady gasping for breath, barely lifting her arm to touch her. The life was quickly being drained. “I'm going to a good place now. You no longer need to worry about me. I'll never get into trouble again. I'll be taken care. It's not your fault.”
She replayed those words over and over again in her mind since the moment her daughter spoke them with her dying breath on the hospital bed. Each time she heard them the pain become more unbearable. A piece of herself died with every word. She knew inside that it wasn't her fault what had happened; there was nothing she could do. Still, there was no comfort in that. She would gladly deal with the trouble and mischief that came with being a teen if she could just have her daughter back.
“Ma'am, I'm relieved to say that we caught the man responsible for your daughter's car wreck. We've charged him with impaired driving and fleeing the scene of an accident; other charges are pending.” The police officer gracefully put his hand on her shoulder bowing his head, knowing the sorrow that the mother now faced. “It's not your fault you know or your daughter's.” He paused with a sigh. “If there's anything I can do...”
Yet another reminder that what had happened wasn't her fault. As if that made everything alright. Was she to brush the matter aside knowing that she had nothing to do with what had happened?
In retrospect, what else could the officer do or say she thought. She took little satisfaction in the fact that the reckless individual had been caught. The damage was done. His decision to go out for a night on the town and think that he was well enough to drive home had crushed her world and left his relatively unblemished. Would he feel shame or have any remorse or regret for what he had done? If he were human he would.
She was once married to the perfect man-or so she thought. That's where the blocks of life began to tumble. That marriage failed, which left her to become a single parent to a daughter entering her teens. She also took on much of the debt for which she was forced into personal bankruptcy. But now, she was on her own without anyone. The absence of her little girl, the pain and suffering; these were debts that could not be paid.
Silence consumed her. The house, with just her in it, was quiet. There wasn't any traffic from the street, or birds singing in the trees. There were no children playing in the neighboring yards nor a supportive voice to give her comfort when she needed it most, despite portraying the contrary. She had isolated herself from everything and everyone, concealing herself in the darkness of this lowly room. How could she move on after such a loss of the heart? She couldn't move.
Word Count: 782