Joy's in that bottle I can't reach

Mindfulness never works.

"I don't want this anymore," she said.

At the moment, I honestly didn't think she meant us.

Us, or her life with us and with everyone else, ever. We were just standing there like every errand-running Sunday, looking at the cashier go "beeeeep" one item after the other. She looked down at me and smiled gently, lovingly, as usual. That one gesture stayed with me until her funeral when I could see her smile once again, rested and calm. I felt as if it was the happiest I've ever seen her. That's when I realized she did it out of love, for my siblings and me, but mostly for herself. She wanted it.

My sister wailed throughout the ceremony; her eyes were shut off and swollen, as ensimismada as always. 

I'm almost certain she couldn't even get to see Mum's face that last time. I think that's why she couldn't understand when I mentioned the small grin on the now late. She was utterly baffled at my observation.

 I wonder if she will ever get rid of that terrible habit of never living in the moment. Not that I'm any better at it anyway, but at least, when emotions rush over me, I can stop time. I don't even try. I think that even if I tried, I couldn't help it, just the same as how she cannot help but to wallow inside herself. 

All to herself. All too blindly, I'dsay. But she won't ever get it.

Thinking about last memories you never foresee is always shocking. However, people cannot see into our thoughts, and when they have a bad habit such as my sister's, you regularly expect and then demand other people to react the way you're doing.

"Why are you always so insensitive, Mari? I can't even stand your face right now," I hear her say. She sounds too far away, though. I can see her lashing out at me, but I cannot recognize anything else.

Uncle Jaime's car is driving without a hitch. I imagine what face he is making while hearing this one-sided discussion. 

Can he hear her like I do? Like zoomed-out white noise? Or is it just me?

I'm aware that the trees seem to be receding from me, but in reality, it's me who's retreating from them. Could they be afraid of stepping into family matters too, just like my Aunt Alicia is right now? She's ready and steady in her task of perfectly curating a mourning-appropriate playlist, just so the silence of a not-so-empty car doesn't become deafening.

The occasional whimpers and emotional demands of my older sister don't leave any more room for social interaction either, whether comforting or disruptive.

In the end, this whole thing is an unintentional battle between my sister's cries for help and my aunt's reluctant musical handcrafting.

At least she left me alone for once, now that she's lost the fight and started paying attention to the tragic melodies.

Honestly, how does she even dare to say I am the insensitive one when all she can do is get carried away by her own emotions?

Time feels really strange. 

My mum, my family, the local supermarket, this car, the elementary school, the nursing department my mum used to work in; for some reason, they all seem to be coexisting at the same time. 

So coordinated and united, like the colors on a contemporary painting. All at the same time.

And just at the same time we get to the house's deteriorated gate, the sight of the arrival makes me depressed. Where were we going anyway? This place, always this place.

All of a sudden, because it did feel like it was all of a sudden. It has been three years since my mother died. 

My uncle gets out of the car and shuts the door louder than ever; he has to open up the gate for us. Was it déjà vu?