My Mother's Home

Apr 13, 2016

My mother's home is filled with heartbreak.
I'm guessing it is.

This home is a new home. Our old home was vacated right after my father died of liver cirrhosis. This new home is a lot smaller than the old one but it still has three rooms, a little veranda for my mother's succulents and orchids, a little cooking corner and a living room.

My mother is fond of my father, she calls him the love of her life. After his death, she made sure to have all of their photos printed and framed, and put it in all the corners of her new house. This house was set to be their home which they built for resting, away from the troubles politics gave our family.

It is located right above my mother's hardware, just beside her bakery.

I asked her once why she decided to have it built on the second floor, and she told me it would be harder for strangers to come up. You see, as a politician in a far flung place of the country, locals feel entitled to bombard your home and ask for help — from sacks of cement for a funeral to protection from death threats — at the expense of privacy.

My mother sleeps alone in her room and I'm guessing she's getting lonelier as days pass. She misses my father and I know that.

I brought her to the mall once so she could see one of my exhibits. I was getting iffy because the mall was closing in a few minutes and she was still shopping and by the time she decided we're going to where my exhibit was, she paused and ran to Marks and Spencers. I asked her what was it that she needed to buy and why does it have to come first before my exhibit. She looked at me, and was holding a body spray, telling me that she ran out of it already. I realized it was my father's body spray and my sister told me she sprays it in the room when she misses him.

My mother's home is filled with heartbreak. From my father who's lifetime ended before her. From my brother who relocated after living with her. From my sister who left my mother's home for college. From me who desires to escape.

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