She walked towards the house with a heavy heart. She thought she was ready to face it…but every step that brought her closer to her house reminded her how hard this is going to be. Time doesn’t heal everything, she realized. There are incidents that take away the best of you never to return. Even though it’s been two years since the loss, her heart never healed. It never stopped aching. It couldn’t let go. It couldn’t move on.
She opened the front door with a shaky hand. Her heart pleaded with her to lock the house and never come back…her eyes couldn’t stand the sight of the rooms that didn’t have him around…her hands trembled as she tried to feel every single thing that he has ever touched. But she knew she had to face it some day or the other. So she put on the mask of strength and moved forward.
Room after room, she walked around…her soulless body did the strolling while the heart and mind were numb in pain.
As she entered the kitchen, it reminded her of all the time he had helped her cook. It always ended up messier than if she had done it alone. But there was a simple joy in letting him assist her, in seeing him take pleasure in sharing a chore with her. And that was enough to make her look beyond anything else and enjoy the moment.
She recalled all those cooking horrors, the fun days that were, as she started climbing the stairs. Reaching the bedroom brought back memories of all those sleepless nights she had spent admiring him…all those endless nights she had sat near him seeing him fall asleep…all those stories they had shared…all the time they had spent decorating it to his liking. Tears fell down her cheeks not being able to endure all this recollection.
She closed the door and ran down to the living room, sat herself on the couch and started crying; weeping her heart out…as if she wanted death to listen to her and let her have him back…as if she were asking for a second chance…as if she wanted the Gods to hear the grief that was killing her every second of every minute.
She pulled herself together and got up only to see all the walls of the living room that adorned their photos. She started dusting the pictures as she remembered the time she was putting them up…
Why do you have so many pictures to put up? It’s all just us and we are right here. Why do we need these on the walls of our living room?
…he had asked.
A room hung with pictures is a room hung with thoughts, sweetheart. I’m trying to frame all the best moments of our lives. Everyone that walks through the house will know what a happy family we are. And it will also bring back all the happy memories when you’re away…you aren’t going to be with me all your life now, are you?
Of course, I am. I would never leave your side. Whenever I have to be away, I will take you with me. Deal?
…he told her, with his childlike innocence.
Deal. Now help me with these, will you?
…she had replied then…not realizing what the cruelty called life had in store for her.
Every picture in every frame was selected by them on that day. With so much care to put together a room that was only filled with laughter, joy and delight. But today, although the room brings back the good times, it makes her weep without control.
Just two months after finishing their living-room-walls-filled-with-photo project, he had passed away. He had moved away. But he did not take her with him as he had promised. Losing her child to life, she was now no less than a dead-body walking. Her heart, her soul, her mind, her feelings…everything he took with him, except for her body. The doctors gave this and that reason for his death, all of which was out of her control; but everything went over her…she could only blame herself – for giving him a life and making him lose it all.
It had taken her two years to gather the courage to come back to the house that he had lived in all his 5 years of life. She sobbed like anything embracing the picture from his first birthday. Her eyes, even though tired, couldn’t stop weeping…her hands couldn’t stop touching his face, feeling her child’s frame in every picture…her lips couldn’t get enough of kissing her little one on all the photos…her heart couldn’t bear any more pain, but had no choice.
Just like a mother’s happiness has no bounds when she sees her child, a part of her, being merry; her grief has no limits when it comes to mourning the loss…it continues to ache day and night, all throughout life and maybe even after.
This is my entry for Carry On Tuesday – Prompt #37 – A room hung with pictures is a room hung with thoughts.