You told me that everything was going to be all right. You assured me that everything would fall into place, as if the road to our destiny was paved, before us. We both eventually knew that it wasn't true. Simple words just to soothe the mind; to ease the uncertainty. The truth was that the unknown was always coalescing around us, and soon enough we'd be plunged into the real world.
You told me not to cry, that there was no need for tears. I wanted to make you understand that it wasn't easy. It wasn't easy to sit alone when I was younger and you were gone, even if it was just to go to the town. It wasn't easy to stop feeling as if I was useless. It wasn't easy to learn that my father wasn't coming back. Though, when was life ever easy?
You told me to do something with my life. You told me that there was something beyond these walls of our home. I wonder now, if you regret that, or if you were ever satisfied with the direction I was heading. Although, one thing you never said to me, was that you doubted me, so I hope that you didn't.
You told me that it wasn't my fault, that I couldn't do anything about it. When I wept, you told me that it wasn't I that killed my best friend. Even as I fled to darkness and isolation, you tried to pry me from the clutches of despair. That's what you always did, you always saved me from something. I just couldn't do the same for you.
You told me to let go. I had the habit of holding on, never willing to accept whatever circumstances I was in. You told me that there was no cure. Nothing to dispel the illness that ailed you. I watched on as you grew paler, how each day you would move less and less until you could only stay in bed. I hand-fed you for days and weeks, and it seemed almost routine. Then I went out one day; only an hour. I came back to see you lying still. You were smiling; you looked happy. I don't remember what was the worst part. Was it the fact that I wasn't there to feel you go? I never got to see the light leave your eyes as you passed on, to whatever was after all of this. Perhaps the worst part was when I buried you. It was sunset. You used to say that you loved sunsets, so I at least owed you that. I don't recall the blisters on my hands, or the aching in my back as I dug, only you waiting and wrapped in white cloth. What I do remember, was lowering you into your grave. I remember each pile of dirt being poured on top of you; each one like a chisel chipping at my heart and soul. Afterwards, I sat and waited. Waited until I stopped crying even though you told me not to. I waited with you as dawn came.
Mother, you told me many things. I only wish I could hear any of them, just once more. I ask myself if you would have changed anything. Would you have done anything differently? I will never know, and that's how it will remain. I'm sorry I couldn't do more. I want to keep holding on, and I suppose parts of me will until I die too. However, you told me. So I'll try. I'll let go.
