Fallen angel.

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Figuratively speaking, my mother is dead.
In fact, she's been dead for a few years now, but it took me some time to see it.
It started three years ago, when the flowers she grew on our balcony wilted. There wasn't a chance of reviving them then, just like her.
I started paying more attention, and the death of her started to show more often, clearer and louder each time.
A year ago she broke two eggs on th floor while making breakfast, she was never clumsy, and she didn't bother cleaning the mess up.
A few weeks later everyone could see how turbid the water of her fish tank was. Apparently she couldn't notice, or worse yet, she didn't care.

A few months later I got home from school and the first sound I heard was my baby brother crying his lungs out, my mother was just in the next room staring into an empty wall.

It was things like that that confirmed my worries, but also how rare and crisp her smiles became, how loud the absence of the sound of her laugh is, and most of all, how empty her vibrant green eyes seemed.

She seemed so heavy with burdens she couldn't handle, she moved as if she was dragging herself, not in her usual graceful way, as if everything she ever loved turned into a difficult duty, something she just wanted to get over with.
She was a wounded soldier who can't unsee what he's seen. A warrior who can't forget the horrors of what he's been through.
And I can't blame her.

Being alone,
You can't escape the kind of unhappiness that lonliness brings upon you.
Not on your own, to say the least.
Maybe it's too late now for her, but I'm trying, one step at a time to help her, although I'm not sure how,
Maybe I can start by not becoming her.

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