And still my eyes couldn't help but stare at her beautifully pale, yet absolutely well put together face, at sometimes it seemed like I could see little smiles from her, but then when I looked closely, I could tell that it was my own eyes betraying me. ….
As they took uncle off the floor and into a car, I couldn't help but feel that he wanted to give us his own little goodbyes while leaving the premises, but couldn't come back from the world he had already entered himself too, his pinkie finger still at its outward position, it looked as if he wanted a companion, holding him by the finger, telling him that everything would be ok as he continued his new journey, yet he couldn't get that pleasure, yet his finger still yearned for such, all I could ask myself right then was why, why would he leave his young wife, his life, and me. As selfish as that may have sounded, but I still couldn't stop asking if I was ever enough for him as a son, or maybe just maybe he needed a child of his own bearing, maybe he needed his own flesh and blood, maybe if his wife had beard him a child, he wouldn't have taken his life, but then I could never know for sure, I couldn't tell if such things would or wouldn't have mattered to him.
And finally when they finally put him into the car, as soon as they closed the doors of the car, FINALLY a little tear left my mother's left eye, still all she said was 'Oh well', but this time you could actually hear the pain in her voice, she had a little squeak in her, a little softness which had been missing from her for the whole day, I looked at her so much which she felt shy about it, when we entered back into the house, aunt was still in the same position as she was for about 5 hours now, but finally she gave a little blink, her blink was so hard that it was followed by a fall of tears, she cried so much that tears started pulling up in me as well, but still she didn't make a sound.
Mother tried to console her so much, but in vain, she was in so deep that any sudden movement seemed to give anger issues, the floor was soon filled with tears, everyone watch as she wept, she wept to her hearts content, when I tried to make her feel better, mother told me not interfere, she told me that I would also understand the pain of loosing a love one once in life, it came as a shock to me that she would say that, I mean I had also lost my only uncle, my saviour, still she had the guts to utter such nonsense to me.
I looked at her with dismay and anger, the kind which you could never lubricate, the kind of anger which would make any sane person commit sins, the type of anger that needs no words.
But then, she was my mother after, I couldn't do anything to her, well that didn't stop my mind from fantasising about her demise
Mother started moving the chair from the murder scene, yet everything still seemed wrong to me, everything still seemed as if uncle never wanted to commit suicide, yet I was the only person to actually witness it myself. But yet I still couldn't shake the feeling which haunted me, that sudden right turn he took before taking his life still haunted, it all seemed so peculiar, I just couldn't place my finger on it. She placed the chair in its right position, the chair had no wound on it, it seemed to fragile at that, much like it was never an accessary to murder, with not even a scratch to at least show that it knew what it had done, but no, it went ahead as if it had no care in the world, but then that was my imagination taking a toll on me.
Aunt finally moved from her chair, she finally decided to make a movement, her eyes swollen, as a ripe tomatoes waiting to be taken out, all she said was, " I need some time alone", I could never understand her at that time, why would any person want to feel grief alone, why would pain seem more bearable without people there with you every step of the way, why would I even dream of such an affair, and yet its all she asked for.
Mother gave her a little nod and a little smile while walking her to bed, it was the first time that mother walked with anyone with total silence, she was mostly a chatter box, she would never let such a moment pass her by, yet today she was quite, she seemed to be another woman again, yet she still had the same lips as before, she still gave the same gaze to me, but you could tell a big difference in her actions, those little gestures seemed different that day.
As she took the stairs back to the kitchen, you could tell of her mood just by the way she ramped on each stair, she seemed to put a lot of pressure at every step she took, which meant that she was uneasy, but since her mood was a little swayed that day it could have been her usual stress putting a toll on her again, but then there was a little crises at home, a crises which she first took too lightly, but gradually took seriously, and maybe a little too seriously.
As she started chopping the carrots, I couldn't stop but think about perfect beef stew tastes when mother prepares, she's always been particular about her stews, and she never failed to amaze me every time. She had the tendency of properly securing every persons taste buds into all her cooking, yet she never complained a little about it, you could have sworn that she was psychic, she always knew about my sudden cravings, yet she never discussed how she could tell of such secretes.
Strange isn't it, to be fully known yet never fully explored, feeling rather estranged from ones self, its disheartening, yet, I couldn't shake it off me, mother seemed to be more aware of her actions more than anyone else that day, still she never gave even an inch of resentment towards the situation at home. She seemed more careful than usual, they way she was chopped the vegetables made me curious, mother always made thin and even slices of carrots yet that day her carrots seemed very well off and bigger in size, she had even made them oddly shaped for my liking and her usual time of stews was also disfigured, she took longer than usual.