Writing for Fun
December 2014
A huge black cloud, like the one in my head, hangs over the house. Is it full of snow I wonder, certainly cold enough today – even the cat refuses to go outside and the birds are all over the feeders, busily stocking up their fat supplies before the seasons onslaught really begins.
The day she told me she was leaving I was in shock, smiling happily I wished her luck in her new relationship and more importantly in the home, far away from me, where she would now make a whole new life. Didn't show her my tears, the hole in my heart that would never mend.
A few specks of snow fell as I gazed out of the window and saw the fox scurrying home to shelter from the coming blizzard. Earlier he'd come to the window hoping for food, but he looked healthy and well fed enough without my help.
I gazed out, remembering the years of her growing up, her dad leaving us, school years, exam success, pride in her job, satisfaction that she was self confident and independent, out in her car in all weathers, coping with cold frosty mornings, scraping the windscreen, warming the vehicle up before driving quite a distance safely.
When she finally met her 'someone' I hadn't believed she would go, but told her to follow her heart, so how could I blame her now – but I feel so cold, as if an iceberg formed around my own heart, 'Let go' a voice repeats in my head, but I'm her mother; I think – be strong, don't cry again – be proud of her.
The snow did fall, snow on snow, deep mid-winter cold settled in my bones as I looked at the holly tree, full of berries one moment, covered by starlings in a feeding frenzy before dusk, then circling, murmurating for my entertainment – a wondrous sight.
If only I had wings and could fly to be with her more often, but age is telling now as I am weary and travel is difficult, the roads become dangerous with black ice and single lane country roads almost impassable. It's slow progress heading up north and we manage it sometimes, but the ensuing exhaustion seems to last longer each time on our return.
Still, there's Christmas almost here again and off we'll go, to spend another festive season with people we don't really know; for her sake we'll smile and laugh, exchange gifts and sleep in a hotel instead of our own cosy beds – then home once more and wrap up warm, toast our feet by the fire and look forward to spring.
The Hellibores (Christmas Rose) already have buds, first flowers of the New Year – and winter will soon pass.
