The dull pearl grey sky is hovering overhead, as if guarding this world from the unearthly horrors that lie beyond it. Raindrops are falling freely, perhaps washing away the things that should not be here at all, or simply the tears from a sad person’s face, as it is doing to mine.
I am glad for this rainfall. It makes me momentarily ignore, or even forget, the memories. Sometimes I feel like they are too much to handle; the weight of all those reminisces is too much to carry in my heart. But they’re still there, and I don’t want to let go. I fear letting go, for they are too precious, yet they carry with them a certain leashed horror. They are all I have left. I want to remember it all – the pain, the heartbreak, the loss of life – everything. They made the person I am today. Without them I am but a lost soul, wandering desperately to find its shelter. So I will treasure them above all other things.
The atmosphere is taunting. It ridicules me for what I have done. It tries to hurt me and succeeds. But I will not let it get to me. I will let the rain wash away all my sins, not my memories, and then I shall be free. Free from what? I ask myself. I do not know exactly. Maybe my thoughts are nothing but mere hopes and dreams to which I desperately cling on to in the hope of a better life in the future.
I hear something. It is more innocent and pleasant than a bird’s chirping. Somehow its tone is accusatory. It brings peace to my heart and rest to my mind. But it is so bittersweet. Still I won’t let it get to me. I have avoided it long enough; the memories have begun to fade. Now they’re coming back, tenaciously, through this poignant lullaby that is waking my senses to atrocious reality.
But I will avoid the excruciating truth and ignore tragic experiences, for they are too bitter to relive and too painful to remember. This song is a memory in itself. A powerful memory that is shattering the protective little world I have built for myself over the years.
My mind is drifting to far away places at long ago times. I remember it all too clearly, as though the memory has been there all along, waiting for me to bring it up again. But I never did and so it wants to pass on a message. But I do not want to hear. I have built my life so carefully without those memories, excluding them from everything, yet leaving them in the unconscious mind because I am nothing without them.
I feel the gust of wind touch my hand, guiding me towards the soothing sound of the cradlesong. It gets louder; my heart is aching and wants to listen to more but my mind knows it’s wrong. I move closer [at this time my heart is shattering over and over again] and wait for something to happen. My breath is caught in my throat in anticipation but my heart craves for more – it is the only reason why it is still pounding at this moment; I want to see more. Do I?
A faded image appears, but I cannot tell if it’s real or not so I convince myself that it is only my imagination; that it cannot be taken seriously, even though I know that nothing could be more serious than this. I close my eyes; I don’t want to see anything anymore.
But the image remains, engraved so deeply in my mind’s eye it is as if I am looking at a black and white photograph from my past. The scene is so unbearably familiar. It shows a child in a cot sleeping to its mother’s gentle singing. I feel the tears behind my closed eyelids but I will myself not to cry for I have seen this image far too many times, yet the emotion in it remains. I notice the peaceful look upon the child’s small face and my conscience feels somewhat better.
I take a closer look at the infant’s features. Yes, it is her all right. I remember those rosy cheeks so clearly, and her silky soft auburn hair which I often did in pigtails. Seeing it all in my imagination, I note the pride and rapture that glitters in the eyes of the mother – my eyes from the past – as she looks at her sleeping daughter.
Much time has passed since then, or maybe less than it seems, for time has become irrelevant since that day; the day when I lost my six month old daughter. It’s odd to think of it that way, as though I have put her somewhere and couldn’t find her, but explaining it otherwise would be too painful.
Now, as I open my eyes, tears are falling freely upon my daughter’s grave, reminding her that I am still here, that I still care. I have nothing but the faded memories and shattered hopes that she will come back, maybe, or that I will move on with life.
I put a bunch of forget-me-nots upon her grave. No, darling, I will never forget you, I promise her. You have opened my eyes to how precious life is, and I will go out there and make the best of it. I know you will be here by my side every minute of the day, and I promise that everything I do, I will do it for you.
“I feel sure we will meet again,” I breathe, as I plant a kiss on her photograph.
I look behind me once before I walk away. And as I walk beneath the beautiful silvery sky, I note that a new sense of freedom is drowning all traces of the guilt and sadness in my heart.
The memories of my daughter will only bring me happiness as I know that she is up there somewhere, a little angel waving at her mother. And I wave back.
~Fin