Her.

Memories

Last summer remains etched in my memory like a haunting specter of both joy and sorrow. It marked the completion of my primary school journey, and as a celebratory gesture, my parents decided on a camping expedition deep within the woods. Little did we know that this seemingly idyllic trip would become a tragic chapter in our lives.

My mother, ever enthusiastic about creating cherished moments, proposed a game of hide and seek—one that held a special place in my heart. With a promise to give me ample time to find the perfect hiding spot, she ventured off into the wilderness. The dense canopy of towering trees cast dappled shadows as I eagerly counted, deciding to extend the duration from 15 seconds to 30 seconds, as a generous act to my mother.

As I immersed myself in the serenity of the forest, an inexplicable sense of foreboding began to gnaw at me with each passing number. It was as if the very trees whispered a warning of impending tragedy, though I couldn't decipher the message. A disquieting feeling settled in my stomach, intensifying with each breath.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream shattered the tranquility, and my heart clenched in terror. The voice that carried through the woods was unmistakably my mother's. Without a moment's hesitation, I sprinted towards the origin of the chilling sound, dread tightening its grip on my every step. Fear mingled with the rustling leaves as I approached the riverbank.

There, the idyllic scene I had reveled in just moments ago transformed into a nightmarish tableau. My mother, trapped in the unforgiving currents, struggled desperately. The shock of the sight numbed my senses, making it difficult to comprehend the reality unfolding before me. It was a surreal nightmare I couldn't wake up from.

Driven by a surge of adrenaline, I leaped into the river, fueled by the desperate need to save her. Yet, the elements conspired against me. Her leg was trapped, and my attempts to free her proved futile against the relentless current. The cruel waters claimed her, and I clung to her lifeless form until my father arrived, his face a mirror of the agony that gripped my soul.

As I pressed a final kiss to my mother's forehead, the weight of loss settled upon me. Never again would I feel the warmth of her hugs or hear the melody of her laughter. The days that followed were a haze of grief and unanswered questions. Why did this tragedy befall us amid what should have been a joyous occasion?

Compounding the pain, my father, lost in his sea of sorrow, found a scapegoat for his anguish—me. Blame became an unwelcome companion, a heavy burden that threatened to crush what remained of our fractured family. I struggled to reconcile with the guilt that now coloured every memory, every glance from my grieving father.

In the aftermath of the tragedy, the void left by my mother's absence became an abyss I couldn't escape. The once familiar rhythm of our lives disrupted, I found myself seeking refuge in the memories we had woven together. But, as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the unanswered question lingered: Why did this calamity have to befall us in the heart of the woods, where the beauty of nature had become a silent witness to our irreversible loss? The ones I could truly call family were not bound by blood but by the ties of friendship—especially with Cameron. His family, a beacon of warmth and acceptance, extended an invitation that surpassed the boundaries of my own. In their home, I discovered a sanctuary where shared laughter and genuine care replaced the void left by familial fractures. Cameron and his family became my steadfast support, reminding me that sometimes, the most meaningful bonds are those we choose for ourselves.