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Shot

Your mother rang your phone,

It was the second time this week,

You never picked it up,

You were far too quiet,

When no answer came back,

Realization hit,

A flow of water was expected

But silence kicked in,

She didn’t speak,

She closed her phone,

She grabbed your bat,

Your favourite one,

The one you deemed “lucky”,

The one you brought to every baseball match,

She held that bat

Like it was her only source of life,

Like without it

She’d inevitably die,

She didn’t shout

But she let out a sigh,

It wasn’t acceptance,

It was pain in her eyes,

Two weeks,

Two weeks since you left,

336 hours she cried,

Third week,

She lost the spark in her eyes,

By a year,

She wasn’t herself anymore,

She didn’t laugh,

She didn’t sing,

Yet she always filled your plate even when your seat remained empty,

Your plate always had two carrots,

And no peas because you hated them,

Your glass had orange juice

While the others got water,

You never got to drink it,

You never got to eat those carrots,

You never got to write those letters you spoke about,

You never got the chance to hug your family or friends,

In a year,

Many things changed,

Your mother stopped crying,

But when she did,

It was always behind the doors with both her hands covering her mouth,

Your mother stopped laughing,

But when she did,

It was because of your pictures in her album,

Your mother stopped living,

With the hope you’ll one day find your way back into her arms,

Your mother continued grieving,

As pain was the only way

She could keep clinging.