One Summer Night in 2018 — by H. WEND

Image Credit: Anne Nygård via Unsplash.

Written by H. WEND. August 10th, 2022.

It’s a warm summer night. Nothing but the rattle of a portable air-conditioning unit, seemingly at the end of its short life too, hanging on just for you.

I’ve just finished decorating the house one last time. One last Christmas we will spend together.

It’s 10.24pm. Late. I’ve never been early to sleep, or rise, but now I find it especially hard to close my eyes at night.

I sit at your bedside, observing every breath you take. Tonight you look to be having the most peaceful sleep on earth but I’m scared you will slip away at any moment. And now it has been a while since you’ve woken to speak with me, I wonder if you ever will again. I wonder if this is truly where I lose you.

The house has never been so quiet. Glancing around the room, the only source of light being a muted TV that stays on, tuned in to your favourite channel, and a few sparkling Christmas lights by your window.
Your bedroom which has always been the centerpiece of our home; the place we have always gathered for a laugh and a chat, with drawings by grandkids on your wall, hats and socks left behind by the boys, a shelf full of scrapbooking albums you’ve made for each family member, crafts and objects of random meaning laying around. And who can forget the jar of Vaseline on your bedside table.

It’s become a little quieter around here. I feel the air changing, the light diming with every day that passes. You’ve built a life for our family, so full of love, joy and most of all- beautiful chaos. I can already feel it becoming something different…

It is surreal to think that out there, beyond your window, other families are preparing for our favourite time of year.

I imagine the joy and excitement, just as we used to feel. The preparations and gatherings that would be unfolding. I imagine what Christmas would have been like this year if our world, right here, wasn’t coming to an end.

My heart breaks in the silence beneath the rattling.

I am really starting to miss you.

All I want to do is wake you to see if you’re still there. To talk about everything that’s happening and maybe even pretend this isn’t really happening at all.

It’s such a strange thing; to ache for someone who is right before you.

Maybe it’s a good thing that you sleep through this. I can’t imagine how you must truly feel.

For me, this is agony.

Watching you now, knowing you are slowly slipping away with every moment that passes, I just want to hold you tight.

I want you to hold me tight too. I want to tell you how upset I am, how angry, sad and scared I am. I am completely shattered and everything inside me is begging you; please don’t go.

But I know that is not how this works.

I just want my mum.

I want you to be okay and I want you to be here- forever! Or for the rest of my life, at least…

If nothing else, I want one more moment of knowing you’re still here with me so I can feel okay once more.

Maybe that is selfish, I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I feel that I become more unbalanced as I try to accept this reality of ours.

I’m constantly walking a tightrope above desperation and grief. I don’t know how to navigate this.

I carefully take your hand in mine, hoping you know I’m here with you, that I’ve got you.

I love you so much.

Your skin is warm and soft. It almost feels like your hand is squeezing mine, ever so lightly.

Maybe I’m imagining it.

I better go to bed.

I lean in and kiss your forehead. “Goodnight, Mum, I love you,” I whisper.

Without a doubt, I feel your hand cling tighter onto mine and you open your eyes slightly.

In a sleepy haze, you look at me; your eyes telling me that you wish you could stay too.

And you murmur softly, “I love you so much.”

Barely a moment passes before you’ve closed your eyes and relaxed into a deep sleep once more.

I linger in the moment, bringing the warmth of your hand to my face, deeply grateful that I ever had you for my mother.

I will never forget what it’s like to be your daughter, and just how beautiful and defying your love truly is. I’ll never forget what a graceful, soft, powerful, enduring woman you are.

10.24pm, One Summer Night, 2018.

© H. WEND 2023 Dear Jo-Anne



  1. Susie reads says:

    Beautifully written with so much emotion ❤️❤️

    Liked by 3 people

    1. WrittenByMe says:

      Aw, thank you!

      Liked by 2 people

  2. Kelly says:

    Amazing 👍❤👏

    Liked by 2 people

    1. WrittenByMe says:

      Thank you so much!

      Liked by 1 person

  3. This brought tears to my eyes. So tenderly and beautifully written. Sigh.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. WrittenByMe says:

      Aw, thank you for reading it and leaving lovely words!

      Liked by 1 person

  4. utahan15 says:

    very touching, may she rip. when my mum passed in 2001 she told me i was a good man, it was her way of saying l love you. she was ready to go. i hope you smile when you think of her the way i do when i think of mine.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Hannah says:

      Thank you for your words! That’s a beautiful thing to remember from your mum. By the end, I knew my mum was ready to go too and that still gives me a lot of reassurance 😊


    2. utahan15 says:

      my mother was a cancer and had me at age 48 so it was love for sure.

      Liked by 2 people

  5. Your writing really touched me and made me tear up. 😢 I hope that posting it here brings you some comfort ❤️

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Hannah says:

      Aw, thank you for reading my post. It definitely brings some comfort to be able to share it ❤️

      Liked by 1 person

  6. LaShelle says:

    Oh my goodness, I was in tears over this. What a heartfelt piece and a beautiful tribute. Your words have left a lasting impression

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Hannah says:

      Thank you, that means a lot! I’m so grateful for you reading and sharing that.


  7. Lauren says:

    Such a heart felt post, you can feel the feelings come through your writing. Thank you for sharing.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Hannah M. says:

      Thank you, that is so kind, I appreciate that a lot!

      Liked by 1 person

  8. tears in my eyes as I read this beautiful tribute to your Mom. I lost my Dad unexpectedly and suddenly on 4th June 2021 so I understand the grief and unbearable pain of losing a parent…devastating doesnt cover it. Sending you lots of love. Your blog is beautiful xx

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hannah M. says:

      Gosh, I’m deeply sorry to hear about your Dad’s passing, and that is not too long ago, I hope you are doing okay especially over the holidays 💛
      You are right- devastating doesn’t cover it at all, it’s such a deep pain, something truly life-changing.

      Lots of love to you too, thank you for stopping by, I appreciate your words so much xx

      Liked by 1 person

  9. elina says:


    Liked by 1 person

  10. Tom says:

    This was such a tender heart-wrenching piece, Hannah. 💔 Can’t begin to imagine the loss you felt that awful night – it’s a gnawing ache that never truly fades. Hope that leaving on her own terms and being together alongside her in her fading moments was able to add some small comfort.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. H. WEND says:

      aw thank you, I so appreciate your words and for taking the time to read. You’re so right— ‘it’s a gnawing ache that never truly fades’. I definitely find peace and comfort that I was able to be with her through the end and that she left on her own terms.

      Thank you again for the comment, Tom, it means a lot 💛

      – Hannah

      Liked by 1 person

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