Farewell : Until We Meet Again

4/ stormy.

Today was the day I didn't look forward to.

I was standing in front of the mirror, tracing my mother's necklace strapped around my neck.

It didn't suit me because it belonged to her.

I took the pendant in my hand to look at the engraved letter:

L.

You could only see it if you looked closely. My mom wore it the night of the accident. And the days, the weeks, and even the years before that. She wore it ever since I could remember.

They gave me all her belongings when I was discharged yesterday. A social worker accompanied me to our apartment where I found all our stuff already thrown into brown boxes. I stood in the middle of our living room and after endless weeks in denial and sorrow, reality finally had caught up with me. Some furniture was hidden by white dusty sheets while the rest was probably thrown away.

Clouds were starting to gather in the pits of my stomach.

The social worker didn't want to leave my side for the night but I begged her. Just for tonight. And after a heated discussion she reluctantly agreed. Someone surprisingly ringed the bell, turning out to be a guy called Matthew sent to get my boxes. I was caught off guard but the social worker led him inside already informed about his visit.

He carried box after box outside into a tiny moving van. It didn't take that long because we didn't have much stuff. The stuff I really cared about were my mom's and mine collection of books, my keyboard, old pictures and my mom's sketch books. Of course my clothes were in one of the boxes, too.

I told the social worker called Mandy before that I thought it was best to donate my mom's clothes to people in need. That's why she was surprised when I suddenly stopped the guy when he wanted to carry the box filled with her clothes out.

I took the box from his hands, opened it up hastily and halted in my movements when I was hit with a light smell of the women I didn't see for two months. Matthew ignored me and carried on with his work as I took out the folded pieces of clothing one by one. I stopped when I finally found what I was looking for.

It was a black lace dress my mother adored the most. It was her favorite dress because it reminded her of what she left behind. She told me that her mother – my German grandma I never met – hand made it for her. Whenever she looked at it, her eyes never resembled regret or sadness. They shined because of the memories that were connected to this very item that may seem like a normal black dress for others. I clutched it to my chest and tried to hold on to her smell in this very moment. Because I knew that it would fade sooner than I thought.

I was still standing in my old room in front of the mirror. I looked down at myself and stared at the dress on my body instead of hers. It was a black skater dress with a high neck and long sleeves, consisting of lace. Some people might find the style of it suffocating and old-fashioned but I think it resembles the definition of modest and vintage. I didn't wear it because of how it looked. I wore it with the intention to be closer to my ma on this very day.

The clouds in me were filled with unshed rain drops begging to be released. A piercing shriek rattled throughout the sky. It was a matter of time; a flash would strike through the grieving clouds to leave pure destruction behind.

I let my short chestnut hair open. It was stopping at my shoulder but I liked it that way. Less work for me to maintain it, right? My eyes were bloodshot and sleep deprived to the maximum. I lifted the sheet off the couch yesterday night, which was followed by an intense coughing fit because of those cursed dust particles. That I couldn't sleep had many reasons. The fact how creepy the apartment looked probably being one.