Like How the Sun Follows the Moon

To live in a world of uncertainties, people tend to hold onto the few truths no one can deny. We all desperately cling on to theories or discoveries that are the foundations of this earth. Just like the existence of gravity, the indisputable need for oxygen, or the collection of moments that make up our lives can only be relived through memories.

The foundation of me, however, is the understanding of the sun and the moon’s infinite footsteps will always chase after the other, like soulmates with a tragically intertwined connection, destined to be apart.

At least in the eyes of those in earth, there’s comfort in knowing fate has a beginning and an end.

It still felt awfully empty in her room, A faint blue hue flooded the space, slowly ridding the shadows of the night. I’d never been here at this hour, I think she’d be sound asleep, just a couple of hours before her alarm would ring at seven o’clock in the morning. Now, at the wake of the day, I could vaguely make out something of her bedroom. The closet door slightly ajar, revealing a few pieces of her clothes. The bed seemed to have preserved the shape of her figure, messy and hollow. The surfaces of her drawers, books and everything, covered in dust.

I picked up the picture frame from the nightstand next to the side she’d always slept in. It was a photo of us at the carnival. I think I was five years old when that photo was taken, after she had shot all the tin-plated thieves and won me a cushion in the shape of the sun. I was smiling the biggest smile, cheek to cheek, and she looked at me like I was the light of her world.

I put down the frame, walked to the other side of the bed, and carefully slipped under the sheets, hoping I wouldn’t ruin the shape of her on the bed.

Without warning, tears flowed from my eyes. I felt paralysed, unable to reach out or leave, and I made a mess of myself.

“I miss you, Mom.” I think I cried for centuries, drowning in the sorrow of my tears until I drifted to sleep.

After some time, the sun found itself in the sky again, the moon gone.

I lifted the heavy lids of my eyes, adjusting to the morning light. Even in the fogginess of being half-awake, I cautiously removed myself from the bed.

I hope I didn’t chase her away.

Sunlight passed through the curtains, soft glows reflected on surfaces after surfaces, offering life to her inanimate objects, eventually the once barren bedroom. The overwhelming aftertaste of my tears still remained in my mouth, reminding me of how easily I could be consumed by the suffocating sadness that is the death of my mother.

I decided to go through her things. On her shelf displayed eight different pairs of sunglasses she bought every time we vacationed at tropical locations, first editions of classic Austen and Fitzgerald books, and crayon paintings I made when I was in kindergarten. She had stationery, notebooks and makeup spread on her mahogany desk, almost mounted, covering her vanity. Not that it mattered anymore.

In her closet, jackets and shirts hung in their positions, motionless. All in their multi-coloured but desaturated palette, I witnessed the life she led in flashes of colour, the trials and tribulations of her loving and sacrificing as the wonderful mother she was.

“When I age out of these clothes, they’re yours.” She said, going through her clothes, pushing pieces left and right, looking for a specific item, “This one in particular, will pass on to you.”

It was a lick, black leather jacket with no decorations. It wasn’t something she usually wore, her style was definitely much more vibrant.

“I know, I know… this isn’t the colour or style I wore,” She started at the fabric adoringly, “I bought it right before I had you, I thought it’d make me a ‘cool mom’’, leather and all. It cost a fortune! You can have pictures of me or whatever, but a leather jacket, well, gives me more character when you think of me.” She was so nonchalant, it almost felt like she was teasing me. She would never leave my side.

She was so full of youth and heart and life that while enjoying her time on earth, she took me with her, every step of the way.

I put on the leather jacket, and it slid on my shoulders perfectly. I lifted my hair from my neckline, letting it fall on my back. Her skin on mine, holding me tight.

I look into the mirror. I don’t see her, but I feel her everywhere.

I shoved my hands in the jacket pocket. And took something out. It was an envelope, folded in half.

I recognized her handwriting immediately.

I sat down on the floor, leaning on the side of the bed, still in the jacket. I traced my fingertips against her words on the envelope.

To my dearest Sun, from your forever Moon.

Written with such force, the words were almost braille-like. Our bond engraved on a fragile paper, a material living on its own timeline.

Is this our final goodbye?

I opened the envelope, there was only a single sheet of paper inside. It smelled like her, a mix of burned wood, barbecue and hazelnut. She didn’t write much. It was an ordinary piece of paper, on it the saddest goodbye.

“Thea,

I’m so sorry to leave you so soon. I wanted more time with you, but I’m afraid my health is compromising that.

Darling, I know you. You love with all your heart and care with all your soul. You will have a hard time moving on.

So, this is a letter for when you’re sad, angry and grieving. We all have out days. Read this letter for comfort and peace. You are my sun, Thea. I’m never far away. I’ll always be there to watch over you, to see you grow into the women you want to be. I’m forever proud of you.

All my love,

Mom

“

When a person dies, they never really go away. You could say they’re still alive, at the very east, in the memories of the ones they loved and those who loved them back. They’re forever being relived in their fondest recollection or most regrettable reminiscence, though never tangible. Or, the dead leaves a mark, on the things they left behind, the echoes of the choices they made, and of course, the kind of lingering pain with the thorough understanding of losing someone in the hearts of those still beating.

Mine throbbed and reached and ached and scared.

“I don’t want to let you go.”

“Oh, darling,” A drop of tear falls, the rest followed, running down the edge of her cheeks. She reached out to wipe the tears from my face. “We’ll never be apart.”

I didn’t realize I was crying too.

“Like how the moon follows the sun,” She traced a circle on the back of my hand, then squeezing it tight. I drew back.

“Like how the sun follows the moon.”