One Summer Night in 2018 — by H. WEND

Image Credit: Anne Nygård via Unsplash.

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

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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.

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© H. WEND 2023 Dear Jo-Anne