2. Time Flies
"Time flies when you're having fun" they all say, so my mother must have given me the best 31 years of my life, because it feels as if it was only yesterday she was kissing me on the head as I headed off for my first day at school. Now I'm stood next to her grave stone, my heart aching for her to come back. Hit and run. A drunk driver knocked her down as she made her way home from work and didn't even stop to see the damage he had done. I felt my husband's hand gently paced on my shoulder and the other softly wrapped around my hand, which I suddenly realised were clenched into fists, full of hatred for the heartless monster that took the remaining years of my dear mother's life and couldn't even be bothered to admit what he had done.
"Come on, love, let's go home."
I slowly nodded before placing a single red rose where my mother lay, then walked away, leaning into my husband for support, but not even he could fix the whole that had now been made in my heart.
I was sat in the window seat in the living room, gazing out into the dark night being interrupted by the rain cascading down from the sky. My mind began to wonder whether the sky was crying with me, but I caught my self almost immediately. I never liked any of those stupid clichés, and I certainly wasn't going to start now. What I did find myself thinking eventually was that tonight would have been the perfect night for one of mine and my mother's 'spook nights'. Smiling fondly at the memory, I went up to my bedroom and pulled out an old box labelled: Childhood memories. I rummaged through all the school pictures and report cards until I came across the little, blue notebook I had when I was 9. I felt a breeze come from what appeared to be no where when I opened the notebook, bushing it off thinking there must just be an open window somewhere, I took to my bed and delved into 13 different worlds of horror and mystery to take my mind off the emptiness I was feeling and would probably always feel.
As I got to the end of the scribbles in the book, I chuckled as my childish handwriting began to droop and sleep took over my once small frame. I made a mental note to finish the thirteenth story in the morning; it could act as an ode to my late mother. I decided when I finished it, I would visit my mother's grave and read it to her. If her spirit is still there, hopefully it will let her know that I will always remember her, she will always be a part of me and I will never let her memory die.