Starry Vigil

It’s been four years. 

48 months, 208 weeks, and 1,460 days. 

It feels like I’ve hit a milestone that with each passing day, wrenches my heart and slowly begins to rip it in half. 

It’s been four years without her smile, without her laughter, without that gleam in her eyes that lit up a room brighter than any star could. 

Four years and I miss the storyteller she was, laying down next to me, without a book, but instead she spoke words poured directly from her heart. I miss the adventurer she was, the way each night, she took me down to the biggest hill in town and laid us down on the spiky grass just so she could look up at the stars without a single worry in her mind. I miss the way she was so carefree, the way she would talk to me for hours on end about the little bright dots shimmering billions of miles away as if they were right there.

As if I could reach out and touch them, and I remember her telling me how it would feel: 

Like happiness and joy, whispers and secrets of all the grueling, tiresome years those stars have been through. It’d make you seem so small and yet so incredibly powerful because they’ve been looking down on you with their eternal wisdom. 

I miss everything she was but what I miss the most is the mom that she was. 

Four years and I’ve yet to stop coming up to that hill, every single night to look up at the stars without the pollution of the city lights below and I’ll I would do was look for her. I’d replay the stories she told me and let the voice of her memory lull me to sleep. There was many memories I would love to relive with you by my side one last time but my absolute favorite of them all will always be that memory of that one night: 

“You see all those stars, Chris? They’ll know so much more than we will ever imagine. They’re up there, shining with the light of billions of years’ worth of wisdom and knowledge. They speak to me.” 

“How?” I’d ask, eleven years old and filled with the most exquisite wonder. 

“We’re all children of the stars, love. They guide you, each step of the way from the moment you are put into this world, they are that fire inside your soul that will fuel you to follow each dream you have. You and I, Chris, we burn with the passion of these stars.” 

She would point out constellations–families, she would call them–and name each star visible along the horizon. She’d then tell me that her biggest wish was to see the Mother Star–the North Star–up close one day. It had taken a while to understand what she had meant.

“She’s the brightest of them all,” she’d say, her face taking on that glorious aura of whimsy and fantastical possibilities. “She is the one who ignites that flame inside your spirit, she is the one who brought me where I am now. I’d like to thank her in person.” 

Most kids had thought she was weird, and as someone who had religious friends, none were ever happy to hear what they would claim were “ridiculous ideas.” But I always believed and drank in every word that my mother ever told me. I’d grown to form a bond with the stars, just as she did. And over time, I’d begun to realize that these celestial bodies were more than just tiny freckles scattered across the Earth’s night sky.

She passed on all her knowledge to me and I began to see every point she was making. I began to find my place within the stars just like she did, and then, when she was speaking of the Mother Star once again, I asked her a question that chased me like a shadow even on the brightest of days: 

“Mom, you said the Mother Star graced us with a flame that powers our spirit. What happens when it goes out?” 

Her face had suddenly turned from giddy and bright to shadowed and wistful. She’d reached out to hug me close and whispered, 

“When the time is right, and you’ve fulfilled all you can in this world, that fire extinguishes.” 

I’d stared back at her, stricken, for what seemed like an eternity before I murmured, “Then what? Once that fire dies, what happens?” 

She smoothed a hand down my hair and gestured for me to look up at the bright, crowded sky. She pointed to a star I’d grown to recognize as Hyades. 

“Don’t sound afraid, my love. That fire keeps you on your feet on earth but when it dies, it starts anew, up there. And you become one with the galaxy.” 

“So, when you’re gone, you’ll be up there?” The thought of her gone, leaving me behind here on my own hurt far too much than I could bear. “How will I ever find you?” 

“You’ll know,” she’d said, letting her arm drop back down to her side. “You’ll find me and when you do, I’ll be looking over you. I’ll be the one to guide you until it’s time you join me.” 

After a beat I’d finally countered, “When will you become a star?” 

“I reckon it will be quite soon, darling. But no need to fret because I will always be there.” 

I’d nuzzle myself into her body, letting her warmth and protection wash away the possibility  that one day, she’ll be the one looking down instead of up. 

I’d lay down on that same patch years later, still reeling in the loss of the person I’d treasured the most in this world. Still wishing that she was here with me. It would have seemed impossible to anyone else but as the years passed by, as each and every night progressed, I could almost notice the fact that new stars did appear.

Stars I’d never seen before and it would remind me of her. I looked up, and I caught sight of the North Star. I’d never noticed until a few years ago that it was not, in fact, the brightest star in the sky, but regardless, it was my Mom’s favorite star.

She believed that it was the one lighting her bright and keen spirit and although it hurt to believe that it was extinguished, I was happy for her now. It had taken a while of searching. A long while of restless nights and anguished days, longing that I would find her in the sky and once I did, I knew that she would be the most beautiful up there. 

I smiled gently, looking up to see her right next to her favorite star.

She was a small star, hardly visible to the naked eye but she still shone brighter than every other body. 

It still hurt.

Four years later and I still ached with grief but seeing my mother up there, ready to watch over me, to guide me as she promised, replenished some of my spirits. 

I missed her dearly, but she would always be with me. I took one last glance at her. 

“I love you, mom.”