A mother and her son, after the death of thier well loved father
The sky cried that night. The moon stilled in the cloudy sky, and even the sun refused to shine well into the morning hours. It was the Earths grief for that irreplaceable soul, the indescribable presence of a genuine man, a man who had for the past forty years of his life, greeted each morning with a similar smile, a bow of the head and a simple good wish. He may have never been successful, never rich or handsome but his charisma and honesty was one to behold. It is what made him loved by all who were warmed by his presence, and love is one thing not all men can truly vouch to have in their life.
He left many behind, all grieved for his Earthly existence, except one. The one he had loved throughout his short, and well lived life. She smiled ever so innocently when they explained that he had slipped away in the early hours of the morning.
She had looked them in the eye, and said “well, I should go home and wait for him to come back then. I hope he carried an umbrella, he will catch his death in this rain.”
They took her words as a sign of denial. It was only expected, after she had lost one so dear to her heart. But days became months, and months turned to years.
“Dear, you know your father doesn’t like you to put your feet on the table, what will you do if he sees you?” She would tell her son. “Don’t unnecessarily ruin dinner.”
Her son would clench his fists and repeat for the hundredth time. “Ma, dad cannot see. He is buried in a graveyard on Breach Street. He is dead.”
She would shake her head and mumble, “Stop talking rubbish.”
Her son soon moved in with his mother. His reason was simple. He could no longer afford the rent for his apartment. In truth, he could very well afford his rent, he was simply worried for his mothers well being.
“It will be stuffy with the three of here, especially since you’re a grown man now, but your father and I won’t mind.”
He would repeat for the thousandth time “It’s only the two of us ma, dad is dead. We buried him in a grave yard on Sunday three years ago.”
She would answer “Boys! They say the strangest things.” On these days, dinner was usually eaten in silence.
The boy had tried to have his mother see doctors and counsellors. He tried a medical, psychological and even spiritual approach to this problem, but he could not find anything even close to a solution.
Four years later, the boy’s mother found herself in the same position her husband was in seven years prior, lying in a white hospital bed, sick, with a hacking cough, pale skinned, and without enough strength to keep down whatever food she did not refuse to eat.
“I wonder when your father will get here. He is very late.” She would say when her condition was slightly better. Her son had stopped answering, he had given up all hope that his mother would one day realize he was no longer there.
It was on one particular day, the mother’s condition began to fast rejuvenate, much to the astonishment of the doctors. They claimed she would be healthy enough to return home by the next day.
“Your fathers coming to get me tonight.” She told her son, as he packed her clothes in a plastic bag.
“No ma, he is....”
“Yes, yes, I know he is dead, but that doesn’t mean he is not coming.” she smiled at her son. He shook his head, lowered his eyes, and quietly with a clenched jaw, forced the clothes into the little bag.
The doctors could not understand why she died that night. She seemed healthy the day before. Her son took a round of his mother’s hospital bed; he opened her drawers and the small cabinet, where her pills still remained. There, she had left a note addressed to him, he opened the little pink envelope with trembling hands and quivering lips, pulled out the letter and began to read-
“You always told me ‘Dad cannot see us, he is dead’. It is true, his body is dead, but that is no reason to think he is not still there. He is always with us, even if his body was broken into a thousand pieces.
He was sitting by my bed side, your father. He told me he would take me with him on one of his strolls. He told me to remind you to keep your feet of the table and to ask you to stop worrying for me. He asked me to tell you to go back to your old job, find a wife, and get married, have children, and live a good honest existence. I know you will go on to be a good man, and I will be watching you always.
We will come to see you sometime.
Love mum and dad.”
He kept the letter in a box in his drawer and blew out the dim night candle. “Goodnight ma, goodnight dad.” He whispered with a smile on his face, as he allowed sleep to drown him in happy dreams.