We always have those moments when your life changes forever, sometimes for the better or worse. Some of those moments you wonder if you could’ve changed one thing and maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t happen. I always think about this. Torturing myself over it again. And again. And again. How maybe before my mother left, I could have begged her to stay or maybe say I was sick. But it only happened like this.
“Do you have to go?” I said in my higher voice I only used to beg my mother for something. This time I was using it to beg her to stay.
“Yes, but you’ll have the house all to yourself- you can watch whatever you want or blast your music as loud as you want,” my mother said trying to convince me.
All I said was ok, and I went up to my room. I remembered her tear-stained eyes glistening in the light, her long hair put up in a bun. She wore clothes that she only wore for special occasions, the ones her mother had given her before she died. My mother held a note in her hand. Her hand was trembling like she was in an earthquake and yet the rest of her body stood still. The night swirled around our house, and I could hear the trees rustling in the woods. I should’ve understood what my mother was going to do, but I was naive.
The door slammed, and little did I know that would be the last time I ever saw her again.