My mother is 91. That's really incredible. I dont think I want to be that old, for I can not imagine myself sitting on my own listening to the loud deafening silence. The symptons of loneliness has begin to crawl on my skin and bite my brains. I can not describe how it is, yet, I can feel it inside.
As it knocks at my door, the nights turns longer than daylights. Reading books do not automatically take me to the dreamland as it used to be. I stare at the ceiling and grab any thoughts that drifted across my mind. Sometimes the thoughts pull my heart even deeper into the ocean of discomfort and some other times, it helps me to ease the uncertainty slightly until the curfew falls.
In such situation, the past is always the most comfortable spot. I go through the pictures of my children on the wall of my heart. When they were born, I almost complained for not having my own private time. As time goes by, they brought so much pleasure to my life. My bed had witness the ecstacy of life, the moments when they crawl, brag, smile, laugh, cry, the moments when they are thoughtless and I was senseless. I complained, yet my heart danced.
Season changes, they all grow up. My princess is busy with her work, my big baby is busy with her studies, my handsome prince spend most of his time outdoor. They have found their own world and developed their own individualities. Soon they will put the pictures of their own children on the wall of their own hearts.
My bed is empty, and my room felt a bit too big for me. God decides my time, but if I may choose my own time, give me the opportunity to witness their wedding bells. I dont want be like my mother. She has to carry all the pictures around, be it mine, my deceased sister, my brother whom she hardly sees and my eldest sister. It amazes me to watch her deal with the unbearable silence moments. If I have a choice, their wedding bells are probably the proper time. After that I will take their pictures off and bury them inside my graveyard.
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