five last letters

Mum

Hey Mum,

First of all - I know what you're thinking while you read this. 'Why did he do this? Is it my fault? Did I not care for him enough? Didn't I give him the reasons to fight; why did he stop the treatment?'
  So before you read this letter with guilt in your heart, please know that nothing of this is because of you. It was my choice and you could ask anyone who gets treated because of cancer in their blood ... It hurts like some son of a bitch. You didn't do anything wrong, I was just not strong enough.That was always who I was: too romantic, too unfocused, too weak and way too much me. Doesn't matter anymore, anyways. I'm gone now. No one can bring me back from this.

I recall - one of my first memories I can call upon is about you. We were sitting in the kitchen, I was, like, five years old. It was in the middle of summer and because it was so warm, you said we should stay in the kitchen all day, cause there it was cool. I also remember the cold stone floor beneath my legs. I was sitting on the floor and you were in a chair, a bowl in your lap. You were sitting right next to the kitchen counter, so you could easily grab another strawberry and cut them in half. You were making these wonderful strawberries with sugar and Joghurt. I loved it - the taste, how the sun shone through the windows and brushed my face, how you smiled at me so beautifully I thought it was gonna take my breath away.

We ate those strawberries together, on the kitchen table and then you read a book to me. You were smiling all the time and I felt wonderful in those moments. Safe and sound. That was when you were happy.

I also remember the nights Dad came home drunk, talking about his mistress he had in Edinburgh and how she was so much better than you. I always wanted to step between you two and say: 'Mum, let's get outta here. We don't need him.'
  I once really said it, when he was gone again, to Edinburgh. You just smiled at me sadly and said: 'No, honey. I need to watch out for you, you wouldn't be happy if we went somewhere else.'
  I tried to convince you, but you didn't listen. When I was seven, Dad had the car accident and died in the hospital. I didn't feel a thing - I had barely known him and if he was there, he'd be mean. But you, you were so much better than me. I saw the tears streaming down your face when you received that call. When they basically told you that he couldn't make our lives to Hell anymore, you were still sad and you mourned for him.
  Still, we pulled through and things were looking up. Yes, you had many jobs to do and you didn't ever want to look at a man again, but still - we were happy. We had each other. And when we moved somewhere else, you could have had the best life.

You've even come to know this man, my history teacher, Mr Grant. He invited you to dinner. I still remember it and I bet you do, too. It was a Wednesday evening; a day when I was feeling worse again. Still, I didn't want to hold you back. Amy was at grandma's and it was your free evening. I just kissed you goodbye and you promised you wouldn't be gone long. You were so beautiful and you looked so ... excited. The first time you would be going out with a man again and spend some time with someone who wasn't your teenage son and little daughter, or your ungrateful customers at the bars you worked.

So I did let you go.

And now comes the point where I have to apologise. I'm sorry that you got held up because of me. I do know that you really liked Mr Grant. I know that you wanted to spend more time with him. Yet when my condition worsened, you just stopped meeting him. Told me, he wasn't the right one. Why did you lie? You didn't have to lie for me. You also could have just told him, he'd have understood.

And now you've come home and I really hope you burned my body and didn't just bury it somewhere. I want to imagine how little sparks of fire escaped and danced across the sky until they reached the ocean. It's a lovely thought. Wild and free. Romantic.

I don't want you to suffer or be sad. Just live your life, Mum, a life that you deserve. Be happy. Meet Mr Grant. He's a good man, I could see that. Live a good life and don't mourn after me, like you did for Dad. Because Dad didn't live a good life and yes, that was a thing you could mourn. But I had a beautiful life, thanks to you.
  So just move on, Mum. I love you.

Alexander