Split

Chapter One

This story is a work in progress as well, and the first chapter isn't completed yet, but stay tuned for more !

I remember the day my mother died, as clear as if it was yesterday. It was a dark and gloomy day. It had been raining for a week or so already, and there were no signs of clear skies. Its as if God was preparing me for what was to come. A storm hit by the eighth day of rain, except that storm stirred inside of me as I saw my mother's coffin being lowered down into the ground.

I tried to picture what she'd looked like the last time I saw her. Every time I tried to make up the curve of her smile, or her glistening, jolly eyes, the image of her face distorted itself, as if something inside me felt the need to seize my memory of her to prevent me from feeling anymore pain. I knew the very moment I lost her, that this hole in my heart would never fill up again. This wound would never heal.

She had told me once that I would find myself when I least expected to find all the answers to my questions. Everything would turn out even greater than what my expectations held; notions of my deepest fears coming to realization would fade into childish ideas, serving only to make me a stronger person. Now that she was gone, I couldn't possibly believe the truth in those words. Not while she wasn't here to guide me.

Since the day of her death, I leaped into a pool of uncertainty and chaos, hoping that somehow, I wouldn't drown in it. I didn't know what else to do. Nothing made sense anymore.

I carefully placed a bouquet of white and red roses at the foot of the grave, letting the tears stream down my face as I knew they would the minute I walked into the cemetery. I hated pretending that I could maintain my composure, when in fact, this here-this place-was my weakness. I wiped the tears from my face as I knelt down and fixed my gaze on the engraving that read,

MARGARET LEAN ONITO.

1965-2007

TO KNOW YOUR FEAR IS TO KNOW REAL LOVE.

DEAR MOTHER AND WIFE.

FOREVER MISSED, FOREVER LOVED.

As my eyes slowly traveled across each letter, a distant memory crawled into my brain.

It's Christmas, and I'm five years old. Mom's walking down the stairs, her arms occupied with boxes wrapped in colorful holiday patterns. I squeal as I see her setting them down on the floor, carefully placing them under the tree. I wanted to open my gifts so bad, but I knew the rules. No gifts were to be opened 'till midnight. Right then I looked at my mom as if to say, "But why? I don't want to wait!" She smiled her sunny smile and said to me, "Gosh, how I love you. I would die for you, you know that?" I nodded my head and ran off, prompting her to chase me around the living room, laughing giddily, without a care in the world.

I smiled. Why this memory came to mind was unclear. But I know one thing. I would have given my life for her.

As the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, I closed my eyes to feel the warmth. She was here. I could feel her loving me and holding me, just as she always had.

"Hi mama." I took a deep breath and took it all in. Everything. The pain. The memories. All of it. I inhaled it; it was the only way I could connect with her. I had to accept what was, and had ultimately decided to leap into a pool of uncertainty and chaos all in one, hoping that I would somehow find a way out. But I was helplessly drowning in it. I was going about life as if nothing had happened, as if she was physically present. I'd lost my friends, my boyfriend, and my family had distanced themselves because they thought I was going crazy. I wasn't crazy though. I was simply healing.

"Nice seeing you again mama. I'll be back soon."

"I'll be waiting my angel. You be good now."I reached out to her, hugged her, and kissed her softly on the cheek. She was cold, but I didn't mind. She was always cold. It had been five months and still every time I hugged her I felt a chill run down my spine.I didn't want to leave, but she was begging me to go. I could feel it in the wind as it pushed me back. The sun began to cascade beneath the clouds, leaving me to a grey and familiar solitude. And just like that, she left me once more.

I woke up panting heavily, my room filled with a tormenting and uncomfortable breeze. I had been having the same nightmare for over a month now, and each time, I woke up sweating and feeling cold. It felt so real. I could see everything clearly; the details vivid in my mind, and I could never force myself to grasp how I managed to retain the thoughts inside the dream. Most nights I couldn't go back to sleep. I tried to read or listen to classical music, but that wouldn't help. I would stay up in bed, trying to decipher the details in an attempt to understand its significance. I drew a blank every single time. I didn't want to tell anyone about it, especially my mom. What would she think if I told her I had been having a nightmare in which she's already dead? She would think I was delusional and would probably even recommend me to a psychiatrist. I didn't think it was too big a deal to mention anyway.

I got up and made myself some coffee, knowing that in two hours, I would have to get ready for work. As always, my job was the most exhilarating job. Since I was in high school I had dreamt and planned to become a professional photographer and be my own boss. I didn't like the idea of someone with a parallel intellect to tell me how to do what I knew only I could do right-just the way I wanted.