I took the supermarket flowers from the windowsill
I threw the day old tea from the cup
Packed up the photo album Matthew had made
Memories of a life that's been loved
You entered your mom's room. Or should you say the room that your mother was in. You were finally here, this time, as a family member and not a doctor. You looked around at the things that cluttered the small space. Flowers that you and your step-dad brought her were beginning to wilt. Without disturbing anything, you managed to grab the vase of flowers. You poured the water in the sink and a few tears went with it. Placing the glass back on the table, you scanned the room for anything else that could be done. You were trying to keep yourself busy at this point. And, so far, it was working. Only a few tears fell from your eyes since you walked in the room.
You dumped the chamomile tea down the drain as well. It was almost like a part of your mom was going with it. A few of her things still remained. Turning around, you picked up a photo album. You'd seen it before. That's when you realized that it was your photo album. One that you and your brother had made years ago. Flipping through the pages, you couldn't help but begin to cry. As you continued, the harder the tears fell and the more of them there were. You were full on sobbing when someone knocked gently on the door.
Took the get well soon cards and stuffed animals
Poured the old ginger beer down the sink
Dad always told me "don't you cry when you're down"
But mum, there's a tear every time that I blink
Oh I'm in pieces it's tearing me up but I know
A heart that's broke is a heart that's been loved
You opened the door with tears streaming down your face. There stood the relatively new plastics surgeon, Mark Sloan. You quickly wiped at your blotchy eyes with the sleeves of your thin jacket.
"I'm so sorry." You tried retaining your professional tone. "Do you guys need the room?" You asked, voice wavering a bit. Mark shook his head, hesitantly putting his hand on your shoulder.
"Can I...?" He pointed inside the room and you walked in. He followed as you walked to the bedside table where a line of cards were stacked. You couldn't help but shake your head as you thought about the fact that your mother would never be well. Never again. You threw the cards in the trash, ignoring Mark's presence. You stumbled upon a bottle of beer, sitting lonesome. You laughed as you thought of your grandpa and how he tried to get your mom to take just one more sip of her favorite beer before she passed. Everyone knew it would happen.
"She never drank it." You explained to the other surgeon in the room. He nodded thoughtfully. Like he actually cared. "She was always worried about her heart." You laughed again, tears streaming down your face. You remembered the words of your father.
"Dont cry when you're upset, Y/N. Embrace it." He'd say. But you weren't sure that that was the best advice. Mark didn't seem to know what to say. You kept your distance and, each time you closed your eyes, more tears seemed to make their way out of your eyes.
"She sounds like a nice woman." Mark finally spoke. You nodded, covering your face with your hand in an attempt to stop the sobs from escaping your lips.
"Hell yeah she was." You sighed. "A-And that's why it hurts so much." You started crying again. "She loved everyone. Even if you were an ass, she loved you." You were broken. You slowly slid down the wall, finally feeling the full effect. It was hitting you hard. Two arms wrapped around you and you melted into them. Even though you barely knew this handsome stranger, you felt safe near him.
So I'll sing hallelujah
You were an angel in the shape of my mum
When I fell down you'd be there holding me up
Spread your wings as you go
And when God takes you bad he'll say hallelujah
You're home
"Do you believe in the angels and demons? And God?" Mark spoke suddenly. You looked up and nodded meekly.
"M-My mother was a true angel." You smiled, remembering the good times that your family had. Mark let go of you and you thought that you may have offended him. So you stood up.
"God's ready to take her back. Back where she belongs." He didn't know your mother but he knew what to say to someone going through a loss.
"Hallelujah." You whispered. Mark did a double-take before hearing you speak again. "She's gonna be where she belongs." You gave a true smile and Mark was happy to see it.
I fluffed the pillows, made the beds, stacked the chairs up
Folded your nightgown neatly in a case
John said he'd drive, then put his hand on my cheek
And wiped a tear from the side of my face
I hope that I see the world as you did 'cause I know
A life with love is a life that's been lived
You had to go back to her house. As much as you dreaded going, you knew you wouldn't be alone. Mark offered to go with you and your step dad was driving. You grasped the hem of your jacket tightly, fearing that if you let go you might break down. John, your step dad, gave Mark a confused look when he got into the back seat.
"He's a friend." You claimed, weakly. John nodded and wiped a single tear from your cheek. "I miss her." You whimpered. John rested his hand on your face, nodding in agreement.
"I do too." Then you were off. It took near half an hour to get there and no one said a word on the way. The voice of Michael Jackson claimed a spot in your brain for that time, making you calm down. You arrived and noticed the eerie vacancy of the house you once called home. The house your mother once called home. The very thought made tears prick at your eyes. John led you inside, leaving you and Mark in charge of the bedroom. You grabbed one of her pillows off the bed, Mark doing the same. It smelled like her. You took in a shaky breath, pulling the blankets over top of the newly fluffed pillows. Next, you grabbed the nightgowns. These were the ones that she specifically made for herself. One of them you made a long time ago. You remembered her facial expression the moment you gave it to her on Mother's Day.
"This was her favorite." You pulled it out, showing it to Mark briefly before explaining the story behind it. You quickly shoved it into the plastic suitcase before you had the chance to be emotional.
"You're allowed to cry." Mark assured you and you broke down again. You sobbed your mother's name over and over. You knew it was a little over the top. But you couldn't stop. You closed your eyes, envisioning her standing in front of you. You yearned for her to touch your face and tell you that everything was okay. But no. She wasn't here.
"I hope I'm her one day." You whispered, tears streaming down your face at an even steadier pace. Mark hugged you tightly. He knew that you needed love and, even though he really didn't know he, he wanted to make you feel that way. He was your lighthouse now. He'd filled a void that the death of your mother created. And she was home now. Where she belonged. You might never actually get over it but it sure helped to have support in the long run.
