“Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday; I can’t be sure.” (Camus). The house was quiet and empty. I was laying in Mother’s bed, just the way she had left it; the sage green comforter splayed across the bed tucked neatly under layers of miscellaneous pillows. Her room had the scent of a warm summer's morning just as one would describe her personality. Now I lie here not remembering how long I had been without her. All I know is that I long for her touch, her scent, her voice.
It all happened so suddenly. Mother had gotten up early to surprise me with congratulatory pancakes for breakfast because I had just graduated from highschool. She had left a note that she needed to go to the store to grab some more maple syrup and would be back soon. She never came back. I remember waking up to a call at 8 in the morning from the Seattle Police Department. “Hello, is this Paige Gibbons?”, a scruffy voice asked.
“Yes, this is”, I responded, still half asleep.
“This is Officer Daniels from the Seattle Police Department calling to inform you that Madeline Gibbons has suffered a fatal car accident. We understand this might be difficult for you to process at the moment but please call us at any time and know that we are here to assist you with any questions or thoughts you may be having at this time.”
I couldn’t respond so I hung up the phone.
Ever since then I have been laying in Mother’s bed staring at the ceiling. I haven’t shed even one single tear. It just feels like she’s gone grocery shopping and she’ll be back any minute. But she won’t. And it’s all because of me. If I hadn’t graduated then she wouldn’t have needed to make congratulatory pancakes. If we didn’t need the pancakes we wouldn’t have needed the maple syrup and she never would have had to leave. But she did. And now she’s dead.
I’ve made a decision. I no longer want to be a part of this world. I deserve to die. I go to the kitchen and grab the sharpest knife I can find. I make my way to the bathroom, my body numb. I sit down on the cold tile floor, pull out my phone, and dial for the Seattle Police Department.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Officer Daniels picks up, “Hi this is Officer Daniels from the police department. How can I be of assistance?”
I hesitate, then, “This is Paige Gibbons,” I pause, “ I’m calling to inform you that there will be a death at 4092 East Hudson Lane.”
Before he responds, I hang up.
I take the knife to my wrists.
