Slowly I turned on one side. I just couldn’t sleep. Memories which had been long buried played like a broken record. Some were happy, I didn’t mind that, some were frustrating…then there was one…a cold and heartless dagger that pierced my heart; leaving a scar which can never be healed.
It happened some time ago but it is still fresh in my mind as if it happened yesterday. Back then, I lived in New York. Both my parents were professionals; one had a PhD in neurology and the other, a well-known interpreter for the French Embassy. So life wasn’t hard for us and quite frankly I was a brat. Being the only child, I got my way with everything.
That year, I was a senior and like everyone else, I anxiously waited for the annual prom night which was drawing closer. I wanted that day to be memorable; I dreamt of an evening in the arms of my partner, beautiful and elegant in a new dress with a new look. However, my tower of dreams crumbled down when my mum refused my request. ‘A pink chiffon gown from Chanel and a pink rose diamond pendant from Tiffany’s are just too much’ she said and the lecture continued, ‘You have many wonderful and beautiful outfits, ma cherie, improvise, you’re brilliant at needle work.’
Her lecture ended in a nasty argument between us both. I mean, how could she be so selfish? She could get herself the new Dior perfume and other expensive designer goods but she just couldn’t buy that dress and the pendant for me? I was frustrated and I could not bring myself to utter a single word to her since then.
Three days later, I heard her on the phone with her superior. They were speaking in French but I understood the conversation and was glad to hear she would be absent in the next few days when she would leave for France. That day came; I was at Patricia’s house when my mum left for the airport. She had a meeting to attend in Seattle before her trip to Paris.
Hours passed by as I sat lazily on the sofa with my favourite magazine. It was a quarter to six when a familiar tune floated across the room. Quickly, I dashed for the kitchen counter where my vibrating phone was alerting an incoming call. I flipped it opened and glanced at the screen. It was mum. Discouraged, I shut my phone and dropped it on the sofa. Little did I know that it was the last I would hear from her.
My dad came home that night with depressing news. The plane to Seattle had crashed an hour after take off and none had survived the gruesome crash. My mind raced, my heart pounded and then, the cold, merciless dagger struck me. She had called me to say goodbye! And all I did was shut the phone off; pushing her further away…
A few months after the tragic accident, I found a round sliver box above her cupboard. On it was a card, “For you, ma cherie.” I opened it and there it was…the dress and pendant I had wanted. I remembered at that time I cried my eyes out.
Life was never the same after. I longed for her kisses and missed her witty remarks in French. I realised now how much I loved her and nothing I say or do now could ever bring her back. I only wish that I had been a more loving daughter. Every night, I would whisper to the stars, ‘I Love You, Mum. Please Forgive Me.’
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