The night my mother left, it snowed, big beautiful flakes that drifted down from heaven in soft patterns. They fell almost as if they were trying to negate the last words she spoke to me as she stormed out the door.
“Tell your sister I love her, I love her very much, I love her dearly.”
She said those words loudly and clearly. Her voice rang throughout my house. The look in her eyes, clearly vindictive, emphasized the words that she had spoken. The look emphasized the words that were not spoken, the words that left me with an empty gap in my heart.
She loved me too, right? I was sure she did. Deep down somewhere inside her I was sure she still felt an iota of the love she once held. Mothers always did that, right?
I watched her climb into her car and back out of the garage faster than usual. I watched as she drove off into the night; the snow swirling behind her. Christmas bells seemed to tinkle in the wake of her departing. I could almost hear them and as I stood there, shocked and dismayed. I could almost hear the Baby Jesus crying in his manger, the same way my heart was crying now.
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