Fireflies

35

We waited for a little bit longer in the lobby while the scattered mass of patients, nurses, visitors, doctors, porters, priests, and volunteers were crisscrossing paths in different directions. Some were waiting like us and some were in continuous unrest of footsteps, hurried or not. Soft voices, loud cries. There were all sorts of noises, of calls.

The air reeked of antiseptic, with a mix of bleach which was probably traced from the cleaners. When I looked up, the ceiling was high and bright with massive fluorescent lights covering the entire area. The metallic tang of stainless steel also roamed around floors and elevator doors.

If one would take a glimpse outside, an ambulance would drop by from time to time with paramedics taking huge flights of stairs, glass doors sliding to open and close, and the squeaky wheeled beds entered the premises with bodies seeming perished which made a huge part within me shudder.

I have been someone who laid there once, almost lifeless and immensely wounded, both physically and emotionally. The memory of it seems like a haze now and yet I can't help but ball my hands into fists. It was a frightful experience of vividly seeing your loved one again, not on a perfectly well and sunny day but in a blurry daze at an entrance of a strange hospital while covered in new and dried blood.

Vaguely recalling the huge puddle of tears both Mom and I exchanged as soon as I caught a glimpse of her again, my heart crushed and heaved in relief upon being embraced in her arms at the same time.

I still couldn't believe I had gotten out of there on that afternoon, especially because I had thought of arriving at death's door the moment Marina almost stabbed me. If she had the chance, she would repeatedly hurt me, harm me, and send me into horrifying hysterics over and over.

But that is over now. It's totally over. The pain and memory remain but I get tougher and I get better. There are people who help me, people who hold me close to their hearts.

"Claire, she's here," My mom said, nudging me in haste. "Mrs. Lee."

Her slender figure ascended the metallic stairs and I watched her in utter surprise. Her knee-length light blue floral dress appeared to blend well with the colors of the space, mixing too well to be exact, with the white robes of doctors and the blue uniforms of nurses.

"You're Claire? Claire Willows?"

I nodded my head promptly. "Yes, it's me."

She smiled at me, the wrinkles at the side of her eyes protruding in their own way of accentuating the sharp bones on her face and the dimples on her cheeks.

"You know who I am, right? It's nice to finally meet you," she smiled.

She extended her hand for me to shake and so I took it, the warmth of her touch filling my nervousness with a bit of ease.

Right then and there, as we met eyes, I remembered the piece Mark once wrote in dedication to her Mom.

———

MoM

An unsinkable boat in my flood of misery,
An unwavering tulip in the storm and sunny,
An unmatched embrace in my hours of agony,
And an incomparable depth of love, of family.

Nothing could ever mould me in warmth as much as you do,
The hero who brought me to venture into this world anew.
And the one who I would care for when creases show and hair turns white as snow.

———

How bittersweet it could be, to both Mrs. Lee and my own Mother. They could lose their children but we could also lose our birth givers. It will never be easy but it will be cozy while the ride still resumes.

Because to have someone who knows you so well, who loves you unconditionally, is enough to tell that you lived a life filled with love, and at some point, you loved life.

I could cherish each moment that I can, and so will all the other children who grew in vibrant or dull homes. 

Mrs. Lee must miss Mark even more than I do. I just wish that all grew in loving homes, but then again, broken people can either choose to be mended by love or get lost without it.

— — —

My Mom and her exchanged a bit of small talk about their previous conversations, the weather, and our purpose this entire trip.

"It's a pleasure to see you in person, Mrs. Lee," I mumbled while staring at her. "It really is."

Her wavy black hair seemed so full of shimmer that I doubted the memory of washing and combing my own. However, the bags under her eyes signaled that it had already been a long exhausting battle in itself, and yet she stayed hopeful and beautiful. In my eyes, she appeared sanguine about the possibilities of her son recovering.

"You look lovely, Claire."

My cheeks turned red. "That's too kind of you to say, Mrs. Lee."

"Shall we go upstairs?" she offered and we stood up right after.

We followed her along the long hallways and the smoothly running elevators filled with glass mirrors. The white and gray tiles shone in light hues as the rectangular fluorescent lights were turned on.

It took a few minutes of incredible silence for both Mom and me as we waited right outside the door of Mark's room. My hands were icy cold that I had to put both of them inside the pockets of my jacket. My thoughts swirled in a frenzy as the sound of the low murmurs ensued from a short distance.

The second floor was pretty deserted but maybe it was because it was already pretty late in the afternoon and the dark clouds had been carrying the deepening night, continuing to replace the gleam of the small glints of light.

By the time we stood in front of the door, and Mrs. Lee invited us inside, I didn't even realize I was shaking.

"Is that him?" My mom murmured beside me.

My eyes fell into the body laid on the hospital bed, it seemed so strange and yet familiar at the same time.

His lids were close and I stood in shorter proximity with heavy breaths. I could only see his face and everything else in the room seemed to be a blur.

In fact, nothing else mattered. It was just that I could see him and only him at that very moment.