Personal Blog Challenge #2 – Mummy

This challenge is killing me…basically whatever I don’t want to write about, that’s what gets pulled from the bag. Sigh. The prompts I put it in the bag speak to things hidden deep down, so I have to hash it out with myself!

*deep breath* I press on.

Prompt #2

Prompt #2

I sat around this morning thinking about what to write. This prompt really scares me.

It’s about 4 and a half years since my Mum passed on from a sudden and expeditious brain aneurysm. Everyone who knew her and loved her besides Kidlet and I live in Trinidad. I don’t have the benefit of long emotional reminiscing stories and my biggest fear is that I’ll forget her. I see her face in the mirror every day, that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried that there will be more and more things I’ll forget. I wish I had paid more attention to things. Granted, I hadn’t lived in the same house as her for many years before her death, but still. I wish I had written some things down, taken more pictures, closed my eyes and branded moments in my memory more.

The last time I talked to her was the day before she died. It was a Saturday. That was our time. Because of the time difference, it was perfect. By the time I got up, she would have been back from the market and she definitely would have had some gossip by then for me!

That Saturday, I called her on her cell and when she picked up, I knew that she wasn’t home. She was out – surprise, surprise. She was in town. She seemed happy. I could hear cars in the background and the occasional noise and quiet of music as she walked past roadside CD vendors. I asked her where she was going. She said, “You know your mother foot hot” (translation: You know I don’t like to stay home.) She had already gone to the market and was now in town. She never could stay at home!

I had gossip of my own about my father, who I had called earlier. She was annoyed by the story and, in retrospect, if I had known it was the last time I would ever speak to her, I surely wouldn’t have wasted it talking about him. Now that I have an ex-husband of my very own (groan), I know how annoying it must have been to hear about his inane shenanigans.

We moved on to talk about what she had cooked or what she was going to cook or that she wasn’t going to be cooking. I don’t remember. Then she said, “Look someone wants to talk to you!” It was my neighbour, Eddy. She gave him the phone and I talked to him for a couple minutes. In likelihood, he didn’t want to talk to me. She wanted him to talk to me. She likely thrust the phone into his hands and said, “Someone wants to talk to you” with no introduction. I recognized his voice so there was no need for him to introduce himself. Then I heard her say, “It’s Vikera,” since his face probably showed that he had no idea who was on the other line.

In that moment, I remember feeling that she was proud of me. She was probably standing there looking at him talking to me with a smile on her face. {Here I begin sobbing.} She never missed an opportunity to show me off. I often wondered what the big deal was. What had I done that was so incredible or amazing. She always made me feel like I had something special to offer the world. Always. {Sobbing}

We probably chatted for another minute or two after Eddy left. She probably told me what she went into town for and that she’d be home later. She probably didn’t tell me she loved me. I probably didn’t tell her I loved her. {More sobbing} 

I don’t remember.

Sorry, but this is all I can write today.

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