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Stubbornly, she shakes her head, plotting her next rebellious scheme.
“I’ll never leave you, and you won’t leave me either. I’ll ask Mummy to come. Wait here.”
And then she disappears. Tears run down my cheeks, and I close my eyes, letting the darkness lull me back to sleep.
The lullaby hums as I sleep, snuggled in her arms, close to her beating heart. I love her soft white sweater. Feeling warm and loved, I dream about the fairy tale she told me before my eyes became too droopy to stay open. She sings a beautiful song and her tender lips brush my head, as she carefully places me on the bed.
“Mama…” Her gentle hand strokes my hair and face with her fingertips, lulling me back to sleep before I have a chance to tell her my secrets.
A beeping sound pulls me back to the room. I lay, broken, tied to tubes and machines forcing me to live. The whooshing noise coming from the machine is pumping air into my lungs. Then her face blocks my view, causing my heart to jump in fear. Tearful, tired eyes look at me, smiling and kissing me, while I lay tied and helpless. I want to scream and fight.
The tube in my mouth prevents me from screaming.
The panic, so sharp and unexpected, locks my muscles in place, leaving one organ flying for the last chance at freedom. The medics run in and out of the room, shouting things I cannot make sense of. My mum stands there, shaking, watching, with tears running down her face.
Suddenly, my heart stops. The breath locks in my chest. I see medics attach the electrodes to my exposed body and the electric current shocks me back to life.
Beep… Beep… Beep… Whoosh… The brightest white fills my vision.
For days, or maybe years, I feel confused, trying to find my way back. As if I am imprisoned by darkness, I rest. I wait. Tired, I fall to my knees, resting my forehead on the ground that smells of grass. The warm and soothing breeze of summer brushes and strokes my skin.
I lift myself up to my knees and look around. The highest weeds and wildflowers, mixed in wheat, wave and dance to a silent melody, as crickets join the winds in this musical orchestra.
I stand up. The colorful blossoms are hidden in a beautiful bouquet of still-green wheat, along with their unripened berries. The butterflies’ most bright colors dance, like happy ballet dancers. The skies are so blue that cotton clouds look like they’re from the fairy tales where angels sleep and bounce. The wild grass is so tall, I barely can make out those painted white wooden house frames peeking out from the untamed jungle.
With keen intuition, I know this place overgrown with weeds. I walk towards the building that is obstructed by unkempt but soothing beauty. I raise my hand to touch the wooden house as a sense of familiarity fills my heart. I am at home.
Here, little Sandra grew up into a young woman. Here, little sister chased her two rascal big sisters around and cried not to be left behind. Through these windows, I watched the springs, summers, autumns, and winters tell their stories. Grandma was warming the house with the cracking and roaring fire.
I walk a little bit further, to the old apple trees, with a broken swing, half on the ground and half-hanging, forgotten in the green jungle. As I touch the old rope, the giggles and full belly laughs still echo with happy childhood memories etched in the decayed cord.
A soft, heart-gripping melody brought by the winds grabs my attention. Spellbound, I start walking towards the familiar voice. The singing voice clenches my wounded heart, the lullaby from my childhood drawing me closer to the sorrowful source.
The wind parts the way, as if knowing where I am going, helping me find the miserable siren lost in the sea of weeds. Ten meters from me, there she is. My mother, sitting on the old cut tree trunk, with wool on the ground and a small round thread spool she has made, in her hands.
I move closer to the woman. She’s lost her faith and joy. Sorrowfully, she sings the songs with haunting melody, speaking to the heavens. Her sunken eyes with dark circles, and chapped lips only moisturized by the tears she sheds. Silently, I sit in front of her, trying not to intrude on her prayers, as her haunting lullaby threads in my heart, awakening love for this woman.
“Mama,” I whisper softly, as I remember who she is. The memories are bounding and clashing in wretched agony. She lifts her head that’s full of grey hair, as her pale blue-green eyes look back at me. She gasps, her lips quivering and heart suspended in her chest, much like mine. So many wrinkles and lines around her eyes and mouth remind me of the old woman rather than my mother.
For some time, we watch each other, not sure what we’re supposed to do. Then my mum lets her tears fall freely.
“You came back home, Sandra.”
I whimper, and a warm smile appears on her face, as she returns to looping red threads in a ball. I relax and wait for her to talk. While she works, the thread breaks, making her stop, but then she coils the loop and continues her task.
“Mum, why I am here?”
“There are so many things we must talk about. There are so many things we must forgive for.”
Fascinated, I absorb how her spool gets bigger and bigger. When she has enough, she takes a green one and connects the ends, then she winds it around two fingers. Finally, she twists the rest, combining threads, crisscrossing them until it becomes a smooth ball. The dancing of the two wool balls on the ground becomes smaller and smaller, as the new one grows in size.
“You were such a bright kid, although stubborn. We always clashed. Sometimes it was hard to teach you, as you fought me all the way through. I was young and inexperienced.”
“You wanted control of me, and then you wouldn’t get close enough to know everything about my life. You would push and pull me until I gave you something. The screaming fights we had were because of you, Mother. I’ve learned to hide from you and put up defensive walls so you wouldn’t misbalance my peace with your hysterical fits about everything.”
Looking away, I try to regain my composure as the memories of countless arguments resurface, making my heart ache from the stress.
“Sandra, my child, there will be no peace if we keep reliving these hurts over and over again. I thought I was keeping you in line and protecting you from the young mistakes you might make.”
