Mother

A child expressing the affliction of her mother's passing whilst being consoled by what appears to be the angelic form of her late-mother.

How ethereal was she. Bathed in a luminescence which softened the harsh edges of the night’s crisp air, she woke me from my slumber with her mellifluous whisper. My mind ceased to ache the way it so often did as she sat upon the edge of my bed and I recognised her. The endearing creases that hugged the edges of her smile and the familiarity that resided within her eyes allowed the silent pandemonium of my bedroom to blur into non-existence. Her hand grasped mine with its tender touch and a sense of tearfulness tinged by glee swelled in my chest. I had missed her so greatly and tears consumed my vision which I avidly tried to clear for each moment without the sight of her threatened the reality of her presence. Hours had fallen through my grasp as I pondered the state of her existence within the utopia of heaven. I might have envied her ephemerally almost reaching into the placidity of her gaze to try to understand how it felt to be unsullied. Yet she had traded divinity for the lowly corner of my bed and still she wore that unfaltering smile allowing the agony that pulsated within my bedroom’s walls to be soothed. Her frail hands that accompanied the unfading beauty of her visage, held me within the blackness of that room. For a fleeting moment her place upon the mattress seemed unbefitting and her heavenly appearance almost foreign, but such thoughts were smothered by the recollection of a plethora of nights when my cheeks were still painted rose by childlike joy and no matter the ageing of time she was always there sat upon that corner of the bed. I had missed her with such ardour and with her kiss upon my forehead I was sent away into slumber just like when my hand used to only amount to a fraction of hers, and this indeed was the last time.