Is Death, a Fictional Dream?

Death. Dying isn't like one of those episode of Grey's Anatomy where you get to conjure up a dream, a dream buzzing with all your loved ones whom you lost and would give a limb to have them back just for a second. But I hope it is. Well, a girl whose heart lives on edge and eyes on brim for the lookout of her mother, can dream.

I hope when death becomes me, I get to slid my palm in my mother's hand. I hope I get to see my father peacefully resting like how I remember him. I hope when I breathe last, I get to be their little girl again; laughing and hugging them.

With this October, five year has touched and rolled onto the sixth without her. And somehow everything feels like just yesterday. Yesterday, when she held my hand tight to her heart and worrying still about her kids. Worrying about Me. Worrying if I was alright with everything happening so quickly. A mother, right? Who else could do that but her. Even in the face of intense pain and fear, concerned only about her kids. I think of her every second of every day since I last saw her but day before yesterday, her thoughts broke me all over again.
 

My heart sank. I found myself struggling to breathe as though my lungs will burst open. I found my strength melting in a puddle around my feet. And I found no one beside me whom I could hug and cry for hours without feeling vulnerable. It's funny how like breeze, comfort from others around you flies away. No one really cares. Why should they? It's been five freaking years. Their life continued to move, but mine has stood still in most ways which matters.
 

Without her, each day is like living away from home with no one to love you unconditionally. In truth, there's no home without her. Because she was my only 'home'. She loved me more than I deserved. She hated my rebellious spirits and adored my courage to dream. She, in all honesty, loved me so beautifully that no one ever could. She was my mother. My only parent. The only person who always had my back. And I miss that. I miss all of this. I miss all of her. I miss our disagreements to our shopping spree. I miss how she would tell me that it's absolutely normal to have a shoe addiction. I miss her laughs. Her anger. Her voice. I miss the warmth of her hugs.
 

And I have been lost since the day she left me to navigate on my own through this beautiful, chaotic, fearful, exciting world. I know with certainty that I could never go back to being that girl again. That girl who laughed more. Who worried less or none at all. Who lived one day at a time, carefree and with happiness and joy in heart. My life could never be that again so i cheat. I sleep more and dream of happy places. I cheat to escape the dullness of my heart. I cheat because there's no help coming. No one could give me that permanence help by bringing her back. No one. So I cheat some more.
 

Its absurd how norms are set for grieving a loss. In place of saying, I am fine; I wish I could say I am not. Instead of crying into my pillow, I wish I could scream out loud. I wish instead of closing my arms around me, I had an option for a hug.
 

Author Notes: Money is important. So is health. But above all, to me what important means is ‘Her’ because her absence has made everything else feel less important. It’s right as much because ‘She’ was MY EVERYTHING.

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