Anastasia’s POV
Later in the day after work, I drove to my father’s house to check on my mom. I needed someone’s warmth, and it was only my mom I could think of.
“The nurse just even left,” the maid says.
‘Oh really? Where is mom?”
“I saw her going into your room,” she responds. “Okay, thank you,” I said, walking off in the direction of my room.
I gently held the handle of the door and opened it. I saw Mom clutching a small picture frame in her hand in tears. I quickly rushed to her to confront her.
She has rarely shown any emotions or spoken, since dad’s death. She is alive, but emotionally she is dead inside, as if she seems to be merely going through the motions of life.
‘Mom, please stop crying,” I strive hard not to cry, pulling her in an embrace. There is a different pain that comes from seeing your mom shed tears.
I gently pulled the frame in her hand to check the content. Okay now, a drop of tear slides down my face from my eyes as I set my eyes on the picture. It was a picture of dad, mom, me and……her.
I quickly wiped the tear from my face and cleared my throat. “Mom, please, don’t do this to yourself. Please stop crying,” I whispered, pulling her closer into a tighter embrace. There was something uniquely heartbreaking about seeing the strongest person you know crumble before your eyes.
She didn’t respond to me, just continued to hold the picture frame as if it were the only thing chaining her to this world. I gently pulled back to look at her, brushing a strand of her hair away from her face.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she lifted her eyes to meet mine. There was a look of emptiness in them, a depth of grief that words couldn’t reach. Her lips were shaking as she tried to speak, but no words came out, only more tears from her eyes.
“Mom, please,” I begged, my voice breaking. “We need to get through this together. I can’t do this without you.” But the words felt empty, as if they couldn’t penetrate the thick fog of sorrow that had settled around her.
The moment stretched on, heavy with unspoken pain, until I could no longer hold back my own tears. They slipped down my cheeks, and I didn’t bother to wipe them away this time. Instead, I let myself feel the weight of the loss, the pain of seeing my mother so broken.
We cried together, our sobs mingling in the quiet of the room. It was as if all the pent-up emotions we’d both been holding in since Dad’s death finally found an outlet. The grief, the confusion, the overwhelming sense of emptiness-it all came pouring out.
But then, reality snapped back into focus. I noticed her growing weaker, and I realized she couldn’t stay like this. She needed help, someone to care for her when I couldn’t. “Mom,” I said gently, wiping the tears from my face and trying to compose myself. “Let me get someone to help you, okay?”
She didn’t protest or respond, still clutching the frame as though it were her lifeline. I quickly got up and called for the maid.
“Can you help me, please?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Mom needs to lie down. I’ll be right behind you.”
The maid nodded and carefully led my mom out of the room, giving me a moment to collect myself. I watched them go, my heart aching, but knowing I had to be strong, for both of us.
Once they were gone, I allowed myself a moment to breathe. I wiped my face, taking deep, steadying breaths, and then I followed them, ready to help my mother find some resemblance of peace, even if it meant pushing aside my own pain for a little while longer.
Back in her room, I helped the maid settle Mom into bed. She looked so small and fragile under the covers, her hand still gripping the picture frame. I tucked her in, brushing my fingers gently over her forehead. “Rest now, Mom,” I whispered. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”
She closed her eyes, and I stayed by her side until her breathing evened out, signaling she had finally fallen asleep. I gently removed the frame from her clutches.
Only then did I allow myself to leave the room, retreating to my own room to confront the overwhelming sadness that still clung to me. I stared at the picture, I stared at her. Tears that seemed unending kept gushing out.
The picture frame felt heavy in my hands as memories flooded back. Memories of laughter and joy, of family vacations and late-night conversations. But now, all those moments seemed distant and unreachable, lost in the void left by her and father’s absence. It was as if their death had completely shattered our world into countless fragments that we were struggling to piece together.
As I held onto the picture frame tightly, I could almost feel their presence. Their smiles and laughter echoed in my mind, reminding me of happier times. But now, faced with their absence, it felt like an insurmountable void that threatened to swallow me whole.