Frozen Smiles: 32 Months of Loving My Daring Mum in Stillness

Frozen Smiles: 32 Months of Loving

My Daring Mum in Stillness 

Time moves forward mercilessly for the living

while I change, while I slowly become someone you never knew

you stay perfectly, painfully preserved in your photos 

My Precious Parents

Ma, 32 months of waking up without you, of looking for you, of needing you, of hurting with a depth words can hardly touch, 32 months of carrying your unexpected loss like a second skin, of missing you with every breath I take, of walking through days that feel heavier than it should, of learning to love you through the ache of your sudden absence, and every day, without fail, I look at your photos, every single damn day, I find myself searching, reaching, speaking to your pictures, it is a ritual now, almost sacred, since I do not see those photos as still images, but as living windows, and every single damn day, I try to breathe you back to life through memory

Ma, in those unbearable early months after your abrupt departure, your pictures saved me, as I clung to those photos like a lifeboat, which were the only thing that kept me breathing, that kept me afloat through the storms of sorrow, that pulled me through some of my worst days, that carried me and lifted me through nights so dark I did not know if I could ever see light again, your pictures stitched together the frayed edges of my grief, that held me when everything inside me was coming undone, and letting me to hang onto the illusion, that you were not truly gone, that maybe, just maybe, this was all some horrible dreams from which I would one day wake

Ma, at first, I did not see your photos as frozen moments, no, to me, in those pictures, you were still alive, so alive, your eyes, were not locked in time, but catching mine the way they used to, twinkling, full of mischief, dancing toward me with a love so fierce I knew by heart, your smile, was moving, vibrant, reaching me across the impossible distance between us, I spoke to you, and for a fragile, trembling moment, I believed you can hear me by speaking back, the familiar sound of your voice filling the silence you left behind, and your infectious laughter peeling through the quiet like it always did, as I almost tricked myself into thinking you have never left us

Ma, as the days turned into months, those very same photos that once saved me, can one day cut me open, that once kept me afloat, can later pull me under, that once provided me with solace so easily, began to hurt me in ways I never expected, as grief has a brutal way of eroding magic, a way of hardening reality, a way of changing even the tenderest things, and now, when I look at your pictures, something different happens, instead of feeling your cheerful presence, I am utterly gutted by your painful absence, since those photos stopped feeling like conversations and started feeling like epitaphs, that once a soft blanket, started to feel like sharp edges

Ma, 32 months on, your pictures that once breathed life into my broken heart, now piercing it instead, because as much as I want to believe you are still alive within those images, but it is impossible to escape the ruthless reality quietly scream: your entire existence distilled into a cloud storage folder, the extraordinary little lady, who raised me, loved me, drove me mad, now a collection of pixels on a screen, I can zoom in on but never touch, the harder I stare, the more the pixels betray me, and that agonising stillness in the pictures, strikes me harder than any words ever could, and it breaks me all over again, because you are there, and sadly, you are not

Ma, no matter how desperately I whisper to your photos, how tightly I hang on to your love, how much I wish otherwise, those pictures are mirrors, reflecting the unrelenting truth, that your story, at least here with us, had ended, you will never come back, and no photograph, no matter how great, can bring you home, as the cruelty is in the details, that same radiant smile, once helped me, now mocks me, and locked in a moment I cannot re-enter, a door I cannot force open, your arms paused mid-embrace, never pull me in, your favourite dress, kept in digital eternity, while the real one untouched in your wardrobe, your eyes, sparkling with life, forever frozen

Ma, 32 months without you, even as the pain twists inside me, I have found you in a photo, since I cannot, I will not, stop sitting with your pictures, the ache of looking at those images is gross, but the hurt of not seeing you is unthinkable, because even frozen, you are pretty, even silent, you are my guide, even gone, you are my forever, even you are not where you were, you are everywhere I am, in the still frames, you breathe, in my wounded heart, you beat, in all photographs that bear witness to the life you so beautifully lived, thus I will keep my daily appointment with your photos, even if it breaks me a little more each day, I rather be broken than empty