Everyone has that one person that is always on their mind. Everyone has that one unforgettable memory. Memories are linked to images. A smile, a wink. I am different, my memories are line are linked to sounds. I remember her laugh, which I likened to the sound of bells. Her voice, velvety smooth and never failing to put me at ease. I remember the way she sang to me, the numerous times I was lulled to sleep by her soft lullabies.
She was my mother. Relatives and friends describe her as sunshine. Bright and warm and kind and everything in between, which I whole-heartedly agree. She was also constantly given praises about how young and beautiful she looked despite her already being her forties. They speak the truth of course, I was also sure that my mother was the most beautiful woman in the planet.
She taught me many, many things, along with Dad, but he is rarely in the house. Mom says it was because he has work. What kind of work he does, I do not know. I do not ask him either, but he playes and speaks to me when he's home so I am happy. Either way, I was practically raised by my mother. She held my hand and told me stories about the world. She has the patience of a saint. I regret to say that I was quite a problem child in the past. My days were pretty much spent crying and complaining and throwing tantrums over every little thing, but even then Mom would just stroke my hair and soothe me. I was very much spoilt.
The only times I was actually quiet was when there were guests in the house, and when that happened I would either lock myself in her room alone or hide behind her, gripping her skirt the entire time and refusing to let so much as a squeak escape my lips. I suspect that amused her, as she would tease me when the guests left. I could tell that by the way she laughed. She would say, "Aw, don't be shy sweetie. You're a big girl now!", to which I would respond by throwing another half-hearted tantrum.
But times are different now. Now, I can only see her twice a month. I try my best to make time for her, and if I am lucky I get to visit every week. Dad is around a lot more now, as if to compensate for her absence. Dad helps me bake peppermint cookies everytime before we visit, since I knew that they were her favourite. She also loves Earl Grey, but she doesn't drink from tea bags and I don't know where to find tea leaves so I just bring honey lemon tea along with me.
I transform to a chatterbox when I reach her place, running my mouth non-stop. Dad puts in his own two cents and fills her in about what happened during the week at work just as we are about to leave. He doesn't admit it out loud, but I can tell that he also misses Mom very much.
I cried a lot when she first left. She was my everything, my very life-line. The first few months were complete torture without her. I cried and cried and cried until Dad came along and saved me from the abyss. Then he reminded me that Mom would...