SORROWLING

Once upon a time, nestled amidst rolling green hills and enchanted forests, there stood a fairy-tale castle that shimmered like pure gold. Its carefully constructed towers soared to the heavens with elegance and grace. 

As the first rays of dawn danced upon its golden walls, layer by layer, the castle came alive. Each tower was adorned with intricate golden filigree, delicate as spun sugar, and embellished with chains of polished gemstones that gleamed like stars. The windows sparkled, painting the air with a breathtaking tapestry of joy. Bathed in the early morning sun’s gentle embrace, it cast a magical spell upon all who beheld its splendour. 

Gardens bloomed at the castle’s tightly laced feet, an explosion of life and beauty. Flowers of every kind, their petals as soft as silk, flourished in vibrant arrays, bursting with colours that rivalled the castle’s own resplendence. Butterflies flitted on wafts of Chanel, with pearly wings that matched the petals radiant hues, spreading delight and magic wherever they alighted. 

The winding pathway that led to the castle’s grand entrance was lined with trees adorned with leaves of shimmering silver and branches that swayed gracefully, whispering inhaled secrets none could comprehend. The air itself carried a sweet fragrance, a blend of blooming flowers and the promise of Elysium. 

In every corner of the castle, there were rooms filled with laughter and joy, where pillows were plump with dreams that murmured sweet lullabies, unicorns roamed and fairies danced upon sunbeams, spreading forced laughter and cheer. 

Every day, the castle welcomed visitors from far and wide, offering them respite and great service. It stood as a symbol of potential, its smile a beacon of reassurance, its cheerful tone a reflection of impeccable service. 

“Damn it, when is he finally going to get this starter engine fixed? It always plays up when I’m driving, never for him. Elle, come on! You’re going to be late for choir practice.”

“I’ve been ready for ages Mum.”

“Then why aren’t your shoes on? Don’t forget your gym shoes today too, you have sport.”

“You didn’t tell me I need gym shoes. Where are they? We’re going to be late.”

“You have sport every Tuesday, it’s about time you started taking some responsibility, you are thirteen now.”

He could never organise himself either….. Chink.

“Oh Elle, the velcro on your bag just snagged my stockings. Be more careful, I’ve got a run now. No time to change them. Quick, into the car.”

Inside the castle’s towering doors stood a lofty hall bathed in golden light, its walls adorned with paintings depicting tales of love, bravery and triumph. The ceiling was a celestial sky promising endless possibilities and limitless wonders, where dragonflies flit lightly across the steppingstones of Styx. 

Chandeliers that dripped with heavy crystals cast a radiant glow upon the dancers below. Sounds of enchanting elegies echoed through the air, filling hearts with hope and the belief that dreams could come true. 

Nestling deep within its cosy depths lay a small room, concealed like a hidden treasure. With shabby walls were adorned by memories as soft as flickering candles, and the musty scent of a child’s breath plucked from a delicate bloom of the past settled lightly upon the flames. Its doors were firmly closed, set aside temporarily, tenderly, like a precious burden, to navigate the dance of responsibilities. 

One day, a small creature approached the castle, footsteps light. A Sorrowling, no larger than a teardrop, adorned with iridescent wings resembling the finest spider silk, shimmering with hues of grey and blue. The peculiar being, drawn to the shadows of grief, fed by the weight of sadness upon its tiny shoulders, entered the castle unnoticed. 

“Bye Mum.”

“Bye Ella, see you after school.”

Don’t go, what if I don’t see you again either. Chink. 

News headlines on the car radio go unnoticed as she draws a deep breath, adjusts her grip on the rock and braces for the uphill day. Push. 

“Morning Annie, there’s mail on your desk.”

“Thanks Rach. That a new shirt? Nice.”

Dear Sir/Madam, I am writing to ask your assistance/to complain/to remind you…. Push. 

She is lucky, she knows. She has a job, she has Ella. She has a smile on her face, hair a well-coiffured helmet and an assortment of Lancôme products in her purse.

And so begins the delicate uphill dance of commitment and deception, service and struggle, ceaseless, lonely determination. Push. 

“You like to join us for lunch break Annie?”

“Sure, I just feel like a coffee though.”

“Not eating?”

“No.”

“How was your weekend, Sal? Did the boys play soccer? How did Joey go?”

Push. It’s heavier now, steeper. She breathes deep and digs her wedge heels in. 

The Sorrowling wends its way through the castle corridors, with its wings reflecting the rainbow light of the midday sun, beating a lachrimae of sighs from a happier life, transposing rising melodies into minor descents. The creature bears a gift, crystalline tear, glistening with the collective pain of mothers past. Its tiny shadow skitters with a soft ethereal touch along the castle walls, tracing delicate patterns upon the golden surface, leaving behind trails of melancholic dust. Chink.

Awash in a sea of ringing phones and clacking keyboards, she is a beacon of reassurance, a problem solver, a happy face. 

“Hello, how can I help you today?”

How can she do this, continue on like normal? Does she not love him? How long since she last thought of him? Minutes? Hours?  Chink.

“Annie, can we have a meeting later, just need to cover the contents of your report, tick it all off.”

Her breathing is becoming more laboured now, the effort a dull heavy weight. Lone Sisyphus.

“Sure, time?”

“After the call lines are closed.”

That’s after pickup time, will have to message Ella, tell her she has to make her own way home. Again. 

Wait, I promised myself. Things are different now that he’s gone. Remember what they say, the only person to remember you worked late will be your kids. Did he feel neglected? Chink.

“Actually, I have to head off at 3.30, but could we do it by zoom after dinner? 8.30ish?”

“Well, ok Annie, just this time.”

Ugh, will this count? Will I get the promotion? Does he think I’m lazy?  Push.

The Sorrowling drifts upwards towards the ballroom’s celestial ceiling, storm clouds threatening from the alcoves. The rain swelled river has washed away the steppingstones and all hope of crossing. The creature’s tears fall gently onto the floor below, an ethereal liquid that seeps into the castle’s foundations. Sorrowful droplets slowly eroding the strength and resilience of the golden walls, creating cracks that mirror the fractures of a broken heart. Chink, chink.

INBOX:

Hi Annie, just a reminder that your budget was due in last Friday. Am hoping you might get it in by tomorrow when I have to present it to the board. Wouldn’t want you to miss out. Will be up until late tonight if you want to run anything past me. Regards, Paul. 

Damn, haven’t even started. 

Hi Annie, would you mind sending me through the membership forms from last year, I seem to have misplaced them. Sorry to bother you at night, but I need to get them signed off tomorrow. Everyone’s on my back, you know how it is. Cheers, Susie. 

Lazy, I’ve sent the through twice already, she just doesn’t want to bother looking. 

Hi Annie, we’re on morning tea duty this week. Thought I’d bring something in on Friday, bit disorganised. Can you manage tomorrow? Ta, Tina. 

Will have to pick up some packets of Tim tams when I get fuel tomorrow. 

MESSAGES:

Hi love, remember, be gentle on yourself, it’s early days. Take time out and relax, you need it. Mum xx

Hi Honey, my flight on Friday has been delayed, will be back late evening. Love you, Pup xx

CarCare reminds you that your car is due for a service, follow this link to book in. 

Yeah, right, time for me. Later maybe, with that fresh bottle of shiraz in the cupboard. It’s going to be a heavy night, I’ll need it.

Nearly at the top of the hill. Just a little more. Mask on. Print out the report. Push.

I wonder what he’s thinking.

“Are you there, son? Are you watching me? Why? Why did you go? Can you see the pain you’ve left me in? Was my love not enough to keep you?” Chink.

The vibrant colours that once adorned the castle’s porcelain mask fade to a sombre grey, the filigree tarnished, the gemstones dulled. The gardens, once teeming with life became tangled with knots, their blossoms wilted, and petals smudged. The butterflies fluttered weakly, delicate wings unable to carry their sorrowful weight. Chink.

The dusty room beyond beckoned exploration, drawing the Sorrowling with its silent symphony of whispers. Its haunting melodies that once enchanted now echo as mournful dirges, a lingering requiem for lost happiness. Chink. 

Why can’t I focus? I have to get this done tonight. Push.

I remember his little feet knocking against my shins as he sat on my lap while I worked. My boy. My baby. Chink. 

No, not now, you can’t indulge, can’t go there now. Just finish these totals and send the report through. Push. 

Push this sorrowful weight up just a little longer. Hold it together. 

I remember how he’d thump the keyboard when doing his homework, words drawn out of a rock as big as mine now is. Chink. 

As the Sorrowling reaches the little room’s door, it pauses. Is it time yet? Can it enter? Take the irrevocable step that cannot be undone?

Memories gently reach out from within with fingers of generous longing. Their soft touch is not without sweet pain. It is a tender ache, akin to a solitary tear rolling down a cheek. Yes, the time is nearing. Chink. 

SENT BOX:

Hi Paul, please find my attached budget. Numbers are approximate, I’ll double check tomorrow. Regards, Annie. 

The rock’s weight feels impossible now. Push.

Hi Susie, can’t find those membership forms, but I’m sure they were attached to my emails last week. Perhaps try there. Sorry, Annie. 

It’s slipping, how long to the end? Push. 

Hi Tina, no worries, I’ll do some biscuits tomorrow, nothing fancy. Annie

Fingers bleeding, shoulders aching. Push.

The Sorrowling shuffled into the room, instantly wrapped in the bittersweet embrace of joy and pain. Memories of the child’s radiant face, innocent mirth and forgotten laughter form notes of a stolen song. Agnus Dei. The pain of absence resonated in a crescendo of whispers, a wistful reminder of stolen moments from a child, a boy, a young man, his untrodden paths, and unspoken words left hanging. 

Now is time. The walls started to crumble, chink, chink, chink. The air filled with grief and the Sorrowling was finally home, sweet home. 

Last push. The rock perched perilously at the top of the mountain, she logs out of her computer and places her cracked mask carefully on the desk. 

Done. 

Finally, a sweet fall into solitude, into the embrace of grief, home sweet home. 

My little lamb. 

Don’t go. Don’t leave me. You know I love you. I didn’t understand your pain. Why you saw just one solution, one end. There were options, we could have helped you. Locked up in your room, in your distorted mind, in your mistaken destiny, where was the key? I’m your mother. I should have known. I’m sorry. 

And the shiraz bears silent witness to the mother’s pain, trying to avert its eyes from the ruination wrought by the Sisyphean descent. Holding her up until the despised morning comes. Time to put the mask on. Time to push.