My Mother And I

I never really expected it to happen like this. I've been watching my mother slowly rot throughout the last few years, like a spoiled fruit that had fallen from its tree and dropped to the ground. I always ignored the fact that there may have been something seriously wrong with her. I continued to eat my dinner whenever her fingers fumbled to open the container full of Advil pills. I stared hard at the chipped parts of the ceiling above me whenever she coughed so hard that she dropped to the ground, begging for air. I ignored it. I ignored the black ink slowly taking over my mother's body, pretending it wasn't even there, just because I didn't want to let go. I never really thought of myself as a bad person. I asked my mother if she was okay, whether she wanted to go get a check-up or not, and she always shook her head no. I think we were both scared, scared to find out what was wrong with my mother. Here I am now, sitting at the dining table, staring emotionlessly down at my slice of turkey. Everyone had left the dining area into the living room to start their Christmas movie marathon and laugh and drink and have a great time, without a care in the world. The only two people that were left at the table were my mother and I. It was a big mistake to stay at the table with her. Probably the biggest mistake of my life. It all happened within seconds, maybe five seconds, maybe ten seconds, I don't know, I didn't count. My mother's trembling hands were struggling to bring the forkful of stuffing to her mouth, and I leaned forward to help her. I watched horrifically as my mother's hands dropped the fork and fell to the table, her head hitting the wood right after, her body going limp, and her beautiful hair falling over her ears. I was still leaned over the table, the hand that was about to help her still held in midair, shaking violently. I watched her petite figure laying motionless and sat back down at the table. It was completely silent, besides the distinct laughter of the old men and women chuckling over their 90's Christmas movies. I sat back down in my chair, and nonchalantly finished eating my meal, ignoring what had just happened and focusing on my plate. It took me a while to finally get to my senses and realize what had just happened. I looked back at my mother's body. My vision started to blur. Her body started to fade away and all I could see were the shapes of piteous tears in my eyes. My gentle cries were soft at first, like a soothing lullaby, but the more I looked at her, the louder it got, until they turned into ear-piercing wails. Wails that were louder than the ones of an infant that had just been pulled out of the womb. Wails that echoed through the house, bouncing off the walls. I didn't exactly know what emotions my wails were made of that day. Grief, sorrow, or maybe regret. I still remember resting my cheek against my mother's arched back, pressing my nose against the Christmas sweater she had eagerly chosen out when we went holiday shopping just a few days ago. They felt like distant memories at the time, ones that had happened recently, but felt as if they were ages ago. I sniffed the sweater, smelling my mother's familiar scent, the one that I had always smelled when I was cradled against her chest during the long nights that I couldn't sleep. I held my mother's piercing cold hands, moving her fingers gently, tracing the wrinkles on them with my own fingers. It had all happened so fast. Five seconds. Ten seconds. I don't know, I didn't count.