Late Night P1 | Rough Draft | fin

5. Comfort 🔞

Just breathe.

Count.

Focus.

Your heart is picking up too much speed.

Is she still upset? Maybe she's forgiven you? What if something happened in the family?

Breathe.

Maybe it's best to just rip this bandaid off, no matter what the outcome is.

Tears start to pool at the edge of your eyes. Accompanied with the feeling of your breath growing shorter and shorter. Panic building in your chest.

Breathe.

You shut your eyes for a small moment, and move the mouse over to click on the first email.

Breathe.

Your eyes dart back and forth along the paragraphs of text clogging the entire page.

It's not your mother.

Your cousin had taken over the email for that one message; apparently. Hopefully.

She's catching you up on the family drama, living situations, her new child —- and finally, a letter about your mother's health.

She'd fallen ill to another pandemic that hit... which is why she never messaged back. She got your emails, but she was in recovery and couldn't focus on what to say.

It ends there.

And so you exit out, anxious to click the follow-up email as it's also from her using mother's email.

You can't imagine what your cousin had been through trying to juggle a newborn and your pandemic-infected dementia-sick mother of yours.

It's another long email. Mostly summaries of how the months had gone.

Your heart finally calms towards the end, until you see the one thing you hoped you'd never have to.

She included a photo of your mother's memorial, as well as a sympathy statement expressing how sorry she was that you weren't here.

She explains that there are several unsent emails on this end, and she'd be compiling and sending them in another month or so when she has the time. Asking for your understanding and forgiveness that she can't get them all together right away.

She was cremated and kept on your late grandmothers shelf, along with the rest of your elder family's ashes.

Your hand comes up over your mouth. And you don't even care that the laptop falls. It's unharmed, anyway. Laying out across the carpet as the photo is in view, gazing up toward you.

You don't know what to do. You can't feel anything other than sudden emotional pain.

Anger.

Guilt.

Frustration.

It wasn't even her fault that she wasn't responding, yet this entire time you took it out on her. You'd never forgive yourself for that. Regardless of how she treated or abused you growing up.

The more you have to cry, the more you start to shake, and the colder you feel.

Breathe, you remind yourself. It gets harder every moment, trying so hard not to hyperventilate in response.

You're hardly putting much thought into things, simply pushing yourself up to head for the shower and turn it on warm.

Anything to rid yourself of the shivering.

You don't even close the doors all the way, or remove your clothing. That isn't a factor right now in trying to calm down in the middle of what might become a panic attack.