Regret

My mind fills with regret and my body hits the ground as my quivering hands drop the phone. I should have done something I say to myself. I should have helped.

My mother trotting out the door in her normal cheerful attitude is marked in my mind for eternity though, feeling I may never vision that again, a pain pierces my heart. I sit next to her hospital bed which seems far too big for her small, frail body, as she breathes what may be her last few breaths. I pear at her face, but instead of the women lying in front of me, I see my content cheerful mother who was so happy with her life. Maybe it’s because I’m used to seeing her like that, or maybe it’s because I can’t bear to look at her otherwise.

My mother adored the well in my front yard. She used to sit on the edge of it every morning and stare at the sun rise. Now,every morning I toss a coin into the well, hoping something would happen. Although, I often thought that hope wasn’t enough.My father tells me I’m wasting my money and that it won’t make a difference. But he doesn’t know that the daily ritual of throwing a coin into the well is the only thing that can withdraw the pain.

It’s the third time I slept over at the hospital this week. Leaving my mother just didn’t seem right. Not after I left her. As the memories of what happened on that tragic day come back to me, I felt the shivers run down my spine. My parents were in an argument and I can still hear the ringing of their screaming to this day. One day my mother ran out the door, tears streaming down from her face and I thought that I should go after her. Another part of me, a more selfish part, said that she would be okay. That she was fine.

I received a call later that day and the phone rang and realizing that my father wasn’t going to answer it I stood up and picked up the phone. On the other end of the phone was the police, telling me that my mother, who I earlier had let run out the door crying, had attempted to end her own life.

Sitting by her always brought me to the verge of tears. I had so much I wanted to say to her. How I had won the writing contest a week ago or that I had a gift for her ready for her birthday sitting under my bed, but mostly I wanted to tell her I was sorry. Sorry I took her for granted. Sorry that I hadn’t chased after her. But now I knew it was all too late to say those things as I knew that my mother wasn’t here anymore. This women, lying in front of me, claiming that she was my mother wearing my mother’s body like a mask, and all the doctors saying she would be okay, that she could hear me were wrong. The warmth of my mother was gone without a trace.

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