Mrs. Daye and Olivine

The Photograph

My husband, Daniel Daye, passed away before his 40th birthday from a silent killer we all know as the heart attack. I was clearing up the half-eaten cake plates and leftovers after a rather emotional funeral service. That was when Daniel's sister, Rebecca (Becca, for people she likes) approached me with a picture frame in her hand.

"El, look at this", said Becca, sniffling and wiping her swollen teary eyes. The photo was of 12-year-old Daniel holding a kitten he found during hiking trail with his dad. I slowly took the photo off Becca's hand and absorbed every detail of that photograph.

"Dan sneaked the kitten in his backpack, because Dad wouldn't allow him to take it home," said Becca still looking at the picture and wiping her runny nose. "Dad went hysterical when he found out that Dan had the kitten the whole hike."

Before I knew it, I felt the photo blurring from my watery eyes. "You know how much he loved animals," said Becca.
"He took good care of that cat like it was his own child, wouldn't go anywhere without little Oliver," continued Becca.
"One day Mom got so fed up, she had to double-check his backpack every day before he went to school." We both chuckled at the thought of it.

The photo surely corresponded with what Becca had said. Daniel had held that cat in his palms supporting its spine and head facing him, just like how you would hold an infant to say something silly in the most animated way possible, which the infant nor the cat won't even comprehend. All the while that photo resonated every ounce of the unconditional love he had for his cat, Oliver.

"You mind if I kept this," I asked Becca still gazing at the picture, then looked up at her for approval.
"I was meaning to give it to you...it's yours!", said Becca, while squeezing me with her right hand over my left shoulder intended for an approving side hug.

"I've got to get going," said Becca, releasing a big sigh followed by a sniffle, grabbing her pursue and lifting a tray full of leftovers.
"There's a tray in the fridge and I put another one in the freezer for you," said Becca.
"Oh, thanks," I replied gratefully.

Becca locked eye contact with me and reassured me in a calm voice, "I am literally one call away, call me at any time you want. Please don't hesitate the slightest. Come and stay with me for a few days if you want to. You know you're always welcome."
I nodded and thanked her.
"I'm here for you too, okay? We will get through this together", I replied, kissing her cheek.

I thanked Becca for everything, and we said our goodbyes. I clenched on the photo frame as I closed the door behind Becca. Silence filled our two-bedroom apartment, leaving a cacophony of London's street noise. Still clenching the photo frame tight and dragged myself to the couch, bumping my right thigh on the arm of the couch.

I sank into the couch, kicked my shoes off, released my jumbo hair clip and uniformly laid myself with the photo frame to my chest. I conveniently placed the photo frame to my eye-level on our oval black marble coffee table, which Daniel had only started to grow a liking for.

I fell into a deep stare at the photograph once I settled in a comfortable position on my side. The photo started to fade away before my eyes, as I felt myself fall into a long nap from a tiring day – physically and emotionally.