Broken Mother

No wound cuts deeper than the words of a spiteful child

Spoken with malice

Spoken in haste

Spoken forever

Leaving a bitter taste

Rosa knew what love was for the first time when she laid eyes on his perfectly tranquil form. Eyes fluttering beneath tightly shut eyelids. He smiled in his slumber as though in a world beyond this one. She knew then as she knew till the very end that she would love him forever in this life and every other that follows. The softness of his skin as she held him close to her halted her breath in mid-intake. His smell, that of freshly plucked flowers from a rain-soaked earth, wafted through her sensitive nostrils. She inhaled deeply, afraid to breathe out, afraid she would wake up to a dream and him not being real. Each and every sound he made caught in her throat. Nash’s love completed her like no other ever had before. It made her want to be the best she possibly could be. He filled the gaping lonely hollowness that defined her up to that point in her short life.

“You have washed away the tears of regret and sorrow that plagued me for eternity, giving me wings to soar, a voice to be heard and a heart to beat once more,” she whispered tenderly to her newborn son, stroking his soft, unfused fontanelle.

Nash came to her in the dead of night when only creatures of the dark stirred and brought with him an eternal flame of the brightest light that engulfed her in all its entirety.

“You are what I imagined love to be. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, my progeny, my firstborn, my son,” she whimpered kissing his wrinkled forehead gently after counting each of his fingers and toes for the hundredth time. The bond between mother and son strengthened with each passing moon. Rosa had never felt such contentment as she did with her firstborn until her monthly bleed ceased for the second time since it started.

Rosa remembered, like it was yesterday, her newborn daughter’s wrinkled face as she was laid on her bare chest. A large red blob, a strawberry naevus marked the child’s right eyebrow and forehead, but most prominent, though, were her eyes. She was born with eyes as big and round as saucers, black as the midnight sky. She looked up at Rosa with a squint. Her yellow, jaundiced body wriggling uncomfortably on her mother’s full chest. Rosa knew then, as she knew with her final breath, that she was indeed blessed to experience love in its purest form, not once, but for the second time in her life. Nash, now a big brother, suddenly felt all grown up, gently touched his sister’s pink feet, needing the reassurance that she was real. Rosa remembered seeing that spark, an almost invisible bond between both her children come to life. She remembered it was just the three of them, it always was. The children’s father hovered at a safe distance not entering their circle. The brother held the little baby girl in his growing arms, unsteady at first, but never letting go, inhaling her milky scent. He smiled, one of his few brilliant and genuine smiles that erupted from his very soul and filled every crevice of his perfect face.

“My little baby sister!”

“She’s so soft Mama,” were his first words of awe.

No moment past or present was or ever will be more perfect, charged with the blessings of the gods of old and new and fused with the purest and flawless love.

Rosa remembered twenty-three years, four months and nine days later, the emptiness of her loss. Roshani tore at her mother’s heart and broke her spirit, leaving Rosa alone in blinding darkness and deafening silence.

Rosa watched her daughter walk out, a tattered old suitcase in tow. Roshani never looked back or stopped to reconsider, not even for a fleeting moment. Rosa never saw her again…

Roshani, named after the brightest light from God was her little angel. She was prematurely cut out of Rosa in the dead of winter when all other little beings tucked themselves smugly in the pouches and folds of their mother’s embrace. Rosa should have known then that Roshani was different from most others. She often rejected her touch and rarely made eye contact, choosing silence over expression. The only person she loved unconditionally was her big brother, five years her senior, one she turned to in moments of elation and joy, in moments of daily, mundane routine and in moments when all else seemed hopeless and lost. Not this time though. It was he whose words and deeds cut most deeply, rejecting both the women, his mother and sister who loved him most, with vile bitterness and loathing.

She pursued him with sheer determination, seemingly a feeble, undernourished, spindly creature appearing to hide in his shadows or at least that is what she wanted him to believe. Slowly, the waif pulled him into her neatly knitted web of guile and deceit, weaving scenarios of victimisation rejection, childhood bullying and isolation. He swallowed it whole. The waif was envious of the siblings' closeness and created a rift, beginning with benign offhand loaded innuendos, escalating into outright accusations and culminating in absolute vicious untruths, sprinkled with selected snippets of fact, making her tales almost believable. The manipulative thing played her role of an innocent victim. Roshani in turn stood her ground, lashing out with impunity. Rosa became the shield between the siblings but got decimated in the crossfire. The spindly creature gave him an ultimatum: them or me.

It was her he chose.

Roshani, looked accusingly at Rosa as a fallen mother, failing to keep their family together. She turned and walked away cutting all ties utterly and completely, leaving her mother abandoned.

Rosa was determined not to attend the hurriedly arranged engagement party thrown on borrowed dollars.

Had her precious son not made it clear enough through his piercing remarks, vindictive plots, and malicious deeds that she was not welcome? An injured Rosa for her part retaliated with retorts that widened the festering fissure.

Rosa tried to keep away but couldn’t. She already lost her daughter, almost masochistically, she needed the blade to make the last of the thousand cuts, severing with a finality.

Hiding behind a poorly decorated peeling pillar, desperate to get one last glance, Rosa watched him walk self-consciously towards the waiting guests. Shoulders slumped low, he appeared alone, miserable, dressed in his only suit, a dark blue, pin-striped, slim cut purchased at an overpriced outlet mall. Nash looked around almost expecting them to be there. Dejected at their absence, he took hesitant steps towards the impatient crowd. He stopped and almost instinctively turned towards the large pillar, tastelessly dressed in cheap plastic flowers. He saw her shrinking away.

“Mama,” he called holding his hand out.

He smiled a radiant smile with an inner joy and relief he could hide no longer. He threw his arms around his mother, forgetting the poison accusations that alienated them. He looked around as he held Rosa’s hands. She knew he looked for Roshani, his sister, his best friend for mother and daughter were seldom apart. Her absence made him cry silent tears. His tears brought on Rosa’s. They stood that way, heads touching, tears mingling until the calculating waif swooped in, clinging to his arm, pulling him deeper into her clutches. She knew that she had caught the prey and attempted to flee with it, making him the willing participant, amnesic of all that came before.

Nash abruptly wiped away the tears with the back of his trembling hand as he reluctantly left his mother’s side at the sight of the waif. A sudden and impenetrable barrier appeared, cutting from sight, sound, smell and touch the being that once touched Rosa’s soul, leaving behind only a resonating hint of a presence that once was and would never again be.

Rosa caught the fleeting scent of freshly plucked flowers intermingling with rain-soaked earth and was transported back to memories of times gone by; happier times. The swelling in her uterus when she contained his shapeless form; the first unexpected sight of him on the random ultrasound; the steady growth and frequent kicks from within, his swimming across the diminishing river of amniotic fluid; the anticipation of his birth; the gush of greenish-brown, flowing meconium at the puncture of the amniotic sack, drenching the hospital gown that clung loosely to her form, seeping down her shaking legs; the panic of medical staff; the fleeting glance at overhead lights on the ceiling as she was hurriedly wheeled into theatre; the gas-filled mask roughly placed over her face, the numbness and falling into nothingness; the emergency C-section at his distress; the first sight of his beautiful face as he was gently handed to her moments later by a robust, jovial, old nurse.

Tightly swathed in a soft, blue baby blanket, he appeared limbless. Rosa panicked, hastily unwrapping her precious bundle to ensure all limbs, fingers and toes were intact. His lips were a deep shade of red, the reddest she had ever seen. Family joked, cheered, and celebrated, laughing that he wore Rosa’s cherry red lipstick at birth. His first sight of his mother’s face was accompanied by a squint, adjusting to a new, yet familiar sound, face, and form. He looked at her for the longest of instances as she looked at him, her firstborn baby boy, both silently taking in the sight of the other, imprinting the image onto their souls. He looked like Rosa, with her eyes, the spitting image of his mother to be precise. They were but two separate bodies, linked for eternity in an indestructible bond, at least that was what she thought. His tiny fingers reached out to Rosa finding her very soul, fusing with it, leaving a permanent print that now scorched and flayed her very essence, nudging her closer to premature yet inevitable destruction and demise.

“You coming in?” he asked almost as a second thought, holding out his arm to his mother.

Her head heavy, her heart raw, grateful that she had no tears left to shed, she turned to walk out, for she knew that she was not needed or wanted. Rosa’s job was done. Her presence there was simply that of unwanted inconvenience.

The anemic waif, ashen with the ill-matched corn flour foundation plastered over her pocked skin, dressed in the colour of mourning. She adjusted her fake septum ring, while her beady mascara blackened eyes ingested her hollow victory. She smiled a devious smirk revealing her tombstone teeth sitting in her blackened receding gumline, took the hand of Rosa’s son, deliberately making eye contact with the broken mother and led him to the slaughter.

Rosa followed the plan to the tee, ordering the nitrogen cylinder weeks prior under the pretext of brewing stout beer. It comes in a white van, securely wrapped, and delivered by a jovial, brown carrier who smiled while handing her the package telling her to “ENJOY.” She hastily signed for the package and smiled at the last face she would see, knowing the package held her end.

Final preparation had to be made before the actual deed was completed.

A scalding shower from head to toe to wash away any remnants of a futile life, cleansing away any sign of contamination and artificial scent. Dressed in the unused red, silk pajamas, she was gifted last Christmas, she made herself comfortable on the white divan that welcomed her familiar shape. Her playlist of memories tantalised and teased softly in the background, each song chosen deliberately and intentionally for the joy it once brought. All doors and windows were left open for the exiting soul's final departure. She looked once more at the photo frames covering every available surface of her bedroom wall. The photos from the years gone by looked back at her in silent, mocking stillness. Rosa turned on the cylinder, exhaled deeply, placed the exit bag over her head as instruction dictated, took what felt like four deep breaths and felt a warmth envelop her, taking her into a gentle lull of nothingness, of eternal slumber culminating in final, welcomed peace.

As she looked down from above at her motionless, limp form, Rosa could swear she heard the pinging of her phone, the familiar pinging tone announcing an incoming message.

The message called out to her,

“Mama, Mama are you there?”