2 AM and you still can’t sleep. The travel and living show is airing at this time.
No, you didn’t drink coffee not even a sip. You want to rest but what is keeping you awake is stronger than caffeine. Has it been three weeks, you are not even sure but roughly it has been that long since you’ve had a sleep for more that four and a half hours without waking up in tears and gasping for air that felt very thin because of the fall you took from a high ground within every short period of slumber. Your eyelids feel like dumbbells and the circles around your eyes look like a think shade of eyeliner. Trying to make sense of the blurry reality you are situated.
“Fuck! What is happening with me?!" You ask, desperately squeezing an argument against your self in hopes of at least getting a hold of a reason .You stood and barely had a straight one. Legs are shaking, you feel very dizzy and weak. You knew that you haven’t eaten anything since that half eaten left over chicken wings this morning. You make your way through the Comfort room and made a few steps then lost your balance. Everything went dark.
With your eyes open, you tried to stand again. You haven’t noticed the tube on your left wrist, the dextrose hanging, the white clothes you are wearing nor the fact that you are laying on a hospital bed.
An old woman in a brown worn-out dress came in. In her 70's she had a worried look in her eyes and her face resembles yours.
Yes, she is your mother. after a few seconds the collar of your shirt got wet. She touched your face and you realized that you were crying without you even knowing it. You are subliminaly tormented. Like a kid that got hurt, she gave you a hug, the very same warm hug you had when you were young.
"Son, I don't know exactly how you feel but I have a clear awareness of how your heart is broken more than ever. I know that your world stood still and is in unbearable torture. I am a mother, I am your mother. God knows how lucky I am that I gave birth to you and was able to hold you from the day he gave you lifeuntil this very moment"
Your body gave up.You personified an outburst of anguish. You feel pain in every piece of you. The worst you have ever felt.
" You still have me" she continues "I am not naive of the pain of losing. Your father left my side after you turned three. That made me want to just bury myself beside his grave and to end my time." she pushed you away from her hug just to give you a caring look in your eyes.
"You may have not given me your full attention. You may have not listened to all my worthless blabbering. You have ignored me at some point and you pushed me away when I insisted to take care of your family. Despite of the pain, I am not blaming you."
Your poor mother, you thought. What is she talking about? Have you been a bad son? You, who always sent more than enough allowance monthly? you who always call every week? you who hired a private nurse to take care of her?
It sounded like you she was not talking about the same son, but you couldn't talk now. You are numbed all over you. Your mouth is too busy making heavy breathe to cope with the exhaustion of crying.
You felt it was unfair for her to come here and try to fuss about your shortcomings now as her son.Just when you can hardly think. You tried to open your lips to say something to make her stop.
"I love you son. I am still here for you. I don't blame you for anything at all.You had a life of your own. These rants of your silly mother may sound childish. Forgive me for this is the only moment you could listen to me without interupting with a roar and cursing. This maybe the last moment I can only scold you like a son again."
"It was painful to see you grow away from me. I hated time being too fast for a woman who only had nothing but her son and hated it for being slow for a widow who just wants to move on from every suffering she had. I appreciate your effort in calling me every week. I know its hard for you to take time, and I m always excited to tell you everything that happened within every seven days but your five minutes calls were never enough to have a heartily talk"
You listened. You body weakened. What she was saying finally made a reason. You call but never more than five minutes, hardly a conversation. You always reply with automatic Verbal nods, and your templates; "how are you?" "I'm fine", "thank you","okay".
Like she was just an obligation that you need to check without compassion.
"It was a big help when you send me money monthly in a brown envelope. But I would prefer a letter sealed in it and a hug if it was possible. I felt like an unaccomplised mother whenever I talk to the nurse you hired for me, she always filled my days with the story about the walk in the park she had with her children. That was why I always give her the extra cash you sent me for her to take them to more places which meant more stories to me. It felt like listening to fairytales."
You brushed her hands of your shoulders. You gave her a hug she had been silently asking. You love your mom. You know you did but was too engrossed in living your own life to execute it.
You forgive yourself for being horrible to your mother but something is still not completing this puzzle, something.
No, you didn’t drink coffee not even a sip. You want to rest but what is keeping you awake is stronger than caffeine. Has it been three weeks, you are not even sure but roughly it has been that long since you’ve had a sleep for more that four and a half hours without waking up in tears and gasping for air that felt very thin because of the fall you took from a high ground within every short period of slumber. Your eyelids feel like dumbbells and the circles around your eyes look like a think shade of eyeliner. Trying to make sense of the blurry reality you are situated.
“Fuck! What is happening with me?!" You ask, desperately squeezing an argument against your self in hopes of at least getting a hold of a reason .You stood and barely had a straight one. Legs are shaking, you feel very dizzy and weak. You knew that you haven’t eaten anything since that half eaten left over chicken wings this morning. You make your way through the Comfort room and made a few steps then lost your balance. Everything went dark.
With your eyes open, you tried to stand again. You haven’t noticed the tube on your left wrist, the dextrose hanging, the white clothes you are wearing nor the fact that you are laying on a hospital bed.
An old woman in a brown worn-out dress came in. In her 70's she had a worried look in her eyes and her face resembles yours.
Yes, she is your mother. after a few seconds the collar of your shirt got wet. She touched your face and you realized that you were crying without you even knowing it. You are subliminaly tormented. Like a kid that got hurt, she gave you a hug, the very same warm hug you had when you were young.
"Son, I don't know exactly how you feel but I have a clear awareness of how your heart is broken more than ever. I know that your world stood still and is in unbearable torture. I am a mother, I am your mother. God knows how lucky I am that I gave birth to you and was able to hold you from the day he gave you lifeuntil this very moment"
Your body gave up.You personified an outburst of anguish. You feel pain in every piece of you. The worst you have ever felt.
" You still have me" she continues "I am not naive of the pain of losing. Your father left my side after you turned three. That made me want to just bury myself beside his grave and to end my time." she pushed you away from her hug just to give you a caring look in your eyes.
"You may have not given me your full attention. You may have not listened to all my worthless blabbering. You have ignored me at some point and you pushed me away when I insisted to take care of your family. Despite of the pain, I am not blaming you."
Your poor mother, you thought. What is she talking about? Have you been a bad son? You, who always sent more than enough allowance monthly? you who always call every week? you who hired a private nurse to take care of her?
It sounded like you she was not talking about the same son, but you couldn't talk now. You are numbed all over you. Your mouth is too busy making heavy breathe to cope with the exhaustion of crying.
You felt it was unfair for her to come here and try to fuss about your shortcomings now as her son.Just when you can hardly think. You tried to open your lips to say something to make her stop.
"I love you son. I am still here for you. I don't blame you for anything at all.You had a life of your own. These rants of your silly mother may sound childish. Forgive me for this is the only moment you could listen to me without interupting with a roar and cursing. This maybe the last moment I can only scold you like a son again."
"It was painful to see you grow away from me. I hated time being too fast for a woman who only had nothing but her son and hated it for being slow for a widow who just wants to move on from every suffering she had. I appreciate your effort in calling me every week. I know its hard for you to take time, and I m always excited to tell you everything that happened within every seven days but your five minutes calls were never enough to have a heartily talk"
You listened. You body weakened. What she was saying finally made a reason. You call but never more than five minutes, hardly a conversation. You always reply with automatic Verbal nods, and your templates; "how are you?" "I'm fine", "thank you","okay".
Like she was just an obligation that you need to check without compassion.
"It was a big help when you send me money monthly in a brown envelope. But I would prefer a letter sealed in it and a hug if it was possible. I felt like an unaccomplised mother whenever I talk to the nurse you hired for me, she always filled my days with the story about the walk in the park she had with her children. That was why I always give her the extra cash you sent me for her to take them to more places which meant more stories to me. It felt like listening to fairytales."
You brushed her hands of your shoulders. You gave her a hug she had been silently asking. You love your mom. You know you did but was too engrossed in living your own life to execute it.
You forgive yourself for being horrible to your mother but something is still not completing this puzzle, something.
You forgive yourself for being horrible a horrible child but something is still not completing this puzzle, something. . . .