Sea of Words

When She Awoke

The comforting folds of sleep have left me long ago as the sun peeks tentatively over the horizon, its warm rays filtering through the emerald leaves of the old oak and splashing golden hues across the patterned bedspread. A light morning breeze outside ruffles the leaves, the sun's rays rippling across the quilt, distorting across the patterned shapes like a twisting kaleidoscope of forms.

I sit in the old rocking chair, nursing a cup of coffee. Its taste is sharp and biting, so bitter I have to force each swallow down. But I drink it, down to the final dregs that trickle slowly down the side of the chipped ceramic mug. There is solace in those bitter sips that send me back to the comfort of my past that envelopes me like an old, familiar sweater.

I rise slowly from my seat, the tsk tsk of my slippered feet on the hardwood floor my sole company. Making my way down the stairs, I flit through the downstairs rooms, pushing back the curtains and allowing the sun to fill every corner, chasing away the final shadows of the night.

The house is empty and desolately quiet - so devoid of life. Until the children awaken, a thick blanket of suffocating silence chokes the house.

I hum softly to myself in a feeble attempt of chasing away the quiet. It is a tune from an old nursery rhyme - the one little Finn always likes to sing.

Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,

And can't tell where to find them;

The heels of my feet lift from the ground, my waist pressing against the counter as I reach into the cabinet for the mixing bowl - the green one Gabe gave me for mother's day with a wobbly "mom" and a colourful flower painted on the side. I set to work mixing flour and cracking eggs, the sunny yolks dropping into the bowl with a soft plop. I beat the batter, the rhythmic mixing accompanying the soft tune I hum.

Leave them alone, and they'll come home,

And bring their tails behind them.

The homely smell of pancakes soon fills the kitchen, the scent of frying butter wafting through the air. It will not be long before the children awaken and the air is filled with their bubbling movement and excited voices, like little tittering birds. Ellie will want to have strawberries and bananas on her pancakes - diced into bite-sized pieces to accommodate for her mouthful of braces. Gabe and Finn will come down bickering as they always do, and fight over the chocolate chips; more will find their way to the floor than their bowls. And Pru, depending on the day and how she feels, will have whatever she'll have.

Little Bo-Peep fell fast asleep,

And dreamt she heard them bleating;

The pancakes ready and the table set, I climb up the stairs until I am standing outside the boys' room, my hand turning the doorknob and pushing the door open. I am met with an impeccably tidy room. The floor is spotless, not a stray toy in sight, and the beds - they are empty, sheets made and folded crisply with meticulous perfection.

My breath hitches and I turn around, opening the door to the girls' room only to be met with the same orderly cleanliness. Slowly, I enter the room, feeling like an intruder, barging in on the reality I have been evading for so long. Unable to bear the image of the vacant beds, side by side like coffins in the memory of my children, I turn to the dresser only to be met by more images that are painful blows that stab right through me.

There is a framed photo of Ellie smiling brightly, brace-less in a black graduation gown with one arm wrapped loosely around Gabe. Another photo captures Pru, a fair beauty in an ethereal white dress that flows elegantly around her, a glowing angel on her wedding day. And the last is of little Finn, with an infant of his own held tenderly in his arms.

I can feel the age seeping into my old bones, into my graying hair and my wrinkled skin. After the slow walk back down the stairs, I am breathless, whether it be from physical exertion or the overwhelming sense of loss that transforms me into a hollow shell. The light of the sun is painfully bright for my eyes, leaves me squinting in order to see. I sit down at the table, topping my pancakes with Ellie's fruit that doesn't need to be cut so small, Gabe and Finn's chocolate chips that will never be fought over, and maple syrup for the mystery of Pru. My eyes wander across the four empty seats where the ghosts of my children now sit.

But when she awoke, she found it a joke,

For still they all were fleeting.

The house is empty and desolately quiet - so devoid of life. A thick blanket of suffocating silence chokes the house, and my children will not awaken.