“But I am chained to time and cannot thence depart.”

•°•°•°•°•

To the one from the star,

On the 1st of a new year, I hadn't expected any extraordinary changes in life. Many do, actually. They move towards the change themselves. Weaving their way through every problem that comes their way to reach a goal.

I was determined to do that. I was determined to work for the change myself, even if the change didn't find me first. If I hadn't been thrown off by my mother that is.

I'd woken up to a morning that stretched calm, beautiful and warm. Warmer than what you would expect in a normal January day. The snowfall had melted to a drizzle, yet the clouds weren't a grudging black that held above.

It felt nice. Peaceful.

Until I stretched and opened my eyes, and saw my mother sitting at the far end of my bed, near the bedpost. She didn't look drunk, nor mildly sick. She didn't look upset either.

In fact, she'd been smiling. A healthy smile. A sweet one, too, perhaps?

I stared at her. A little too long maybe, because mom shifted uncomfortably before she said, “Good morning, honey.” Her voice seemed to carry the warmth that I'd craved for so long. How long had it been since she'd spoken to me? Really spoken to me.

“Morning.”

“Uhh... So happy new year!” She fumbled with her words. Awkward.

I realised she was nervous.

So I smiled -- or rather tried to smile -- and wished back as cheerfully as I could, “Happy new year!”

“So uhh, I made breakfast. Let's eat together?”

“You made breakfast?” Is this a dream?

“Yeah!”

“Is dad here too?” I didn't want him to be there. I wasn't ready to face him. Not yet.

“No, no he isn't.” Mom almost sounded hurt. Tired. Regretful.

“Okay, I'll go take a shower and meet you downstairs.” I'd proceeded to climb out of bed and make my way to the bathroom when mom called me and whispered,“I'm sorry. For everything.” And then she was gone.

I hadn't understood the everything. Though some part of me knew what she'd been referring to. Mostly the abandonment. But did she feel sorry for blaming me? Maybe. Maybe not. But I realised mom was trying. She was trying for the last time to bring us together. Dad, herself and I. And I hoped it would work this time, just as much as she did.

After a quick shower and intense struggle with my jeans (that I realised did not fit me well because I'd been growing healthy -- I didn't try to vomit out my food anymore; I didn't try to skip my meals anymore either) I had been sitting at the dinner table, with mum facing me on the other side.

I realised you weren't around. Was it because mom was home that morning?

“I made bourbon-pear star pie and sausage casserole. There's bacon-wrapped pineapple shrimp and sausage stuffed mushrooms too. And-”

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing this?” I looked into her eyes. To hunt even for that smallest hint of contempt that I'd seen permanently etched onto her face every time she looked at me.

There was none. There was only regret, remorse. And deep, deep love. For a love lost. Was it her love for me? Love for John? Or us both?

“Sweetie, I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry.”

“Mom, why are you apologising?”

“Because I need to. Everytime I turned away from you, I was being selfish. I thought I needed healing. I thought God was being unfair. He snatched away a child for me and I did blame you initially-” I flinched. She noticed, and immediately altered the meaning of it. “No, please hear me out! I was wrong. I was absolutely wrong. I know and I'm so sorry. I don't blame you. I was wrong and I'm so, so sorry. We had incurred a loss together. All three of us had lost our family, our little ball of sunshine. And we had the right to mourn. But together. We were supposed to deal with this together but we didn't. I hate myself for doing this to you. I hate myself for abandoning you when you needed me the most. I hate myself for not being there for you. I hate myself for not being the mother that I'd promised I would. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't blame. Please know that I don't blame you.”

She was crying, and the emotions that I'd buried deep inside my gut surfaced, slowly and steadily. It swelled under my breastbone, pushing my heart against my chest with a louder thump, thump; until it rose to the height of a throat, forming a lump ready to burst.

“Did you know about dad?”

“Your dad…? What about him?”

“That he had been hitting me? The dad I loved. The dad who used to be my baseball coach. The dad who used to read me midnight stories. That same dad who later started hating me because I killed your son. Do you know about that, mom?”

“I-”

“No, I don't blame you for not knowing. You needed healing, right? Dad needed his healing too. But I deserved punishment, perhaps.”

“But...I don't blame you!” She was sobbing and almost said it like a plea. “I'm sorry. I know I was wrong. I'm sorry!”

But I'd smiled. “I don't hate you mom. And I don't blame you either. Every human has a different way of dealing with the death of a loved one. I can never blame you for your choices,” I whispered before finally adding, “I simply wished you'd chosen me. That's all.”

I rose up from my seat, bolted to the front door and slipped outside into the sunlight.

You'd been standing in the front yard waiting for me. Looking at you I'd smiled. And when you smiled back, my heart calmed inside my chest, and I could finally breathe.

Because I finally believed everything would be alright.

•°•°•°•°•

A/N

I know I'm late again ahhh! I'm sorry! But I hope you enjoyed this entry. Let me know your thoughts and theories. Do you think she's entirely forgiven her mother? If not, will she? Let me know!

Thank you so much for reading! ❤

~Jenna