š šššššš šššššš šš šššššš.
That was the day Calypso was set free.
Ever since, one question permeated through her mind. It refused to grant her sleep. It wouldnāt allow her peace. For every hour of every day, it ate away at her psyche. Would it be so bad if she never found out? Would she be selfish for avoiding an answer that might leave her grieving for the rest of her existence?
If her two children passed away without a mother, would she be able to forgive herself?
ā December 28th, 2023 ā
Celio had always been a brave boy. His mind was made up that he was going to be a hero. Calypso always tried to warn him of the horrors that ensued during war on account of living through the upheavals of World War II. A trench was no place for her son to live in. Celio used to hold her hand and say, when he grew up, heād protect her from all the bad things in the world. It was only when he stood at her grave that he understood some things were bigger than him .. so heād have to be the biggest. As an adolescent, he was dedicated to having muscles like Doug Hepburn and when he was called to fight for his country, he did, going as far as to lie about his age. Years in battle never broke his unwavering spirit, his burning passion to protect others which led to his eventual death during a raid.
Thatās what his tombstone read. A simple gray slab in a sea of tombstones. Knees sinking into the grass beneath her, Calypso knelt by the grave with a pale hand covering her mouth. She couldnāt breathe. She felt sick. They didnāt even have the decency to add a photo of him. He was more than a name and war. That strong kid whoād climb furniture and play with bugs. The little boy that she blanketed in her arms at night, twiddling locks of his hair between her fingers as she consoled him from a nightmare, died somebodyās target? It was all wrong.
A mother should never weep by her sonās grave like this, wondering what his final moments were like. Her little hero needed protecting and it shouldāve been her.
ā February 5th, 2024 ā
Celine was a timid little girl, always stood behind her brother in her doll-like dress with knees pointing inward as she played with the ruffles of her gown. However, when the needle hit her favourite vinyl, she blossomed into the most elegant dancer. Calypso had enrolled her for ballet classes, attending every show at the end of the month without fail ā she sat in the audience with the biggest grin on her face.
A nursing home in Graz, Austria.
Thatās where she resides.
There was a chance to ask for forgiveness, explain herself or even make up for lost time if she isnāt turned away at the door. Her little Celine-a Ballerina. Would she even remember that nickname? It didnāt matter. All that mattered was their future. However long that may be, they could go on walks or share an ice cream just like she did when Celine was a little girl. The flight felt like it lasted weeks, the knot in her stomach tightening with each hour passing. As she stood at the reception of the home with a bouquet of Scorpion Grasses, her heel tapped against the floor with anticipation. A nurse walks over with a soft smile, guiding the brunette into a room.
There sat her daughter, slightly hunched over with sunlight pouring through a window and against her wrinkled skin. There were multiple framed photos propped up by a mirror. One of Celine dancing, a poised smile across her face .. another of Celio in the army, a gun propped up atop his shoulder. In the center was a photo of the two of them, grinning and either side of their mother who was leaning down to meet the cameraās height. Their gazes lock as Calypso hesitantly approached, placing the bouquet on the table before carefully cupping Celineās cheek in her palm.
Celineās empty expression barely shifts as she leans away from Calypsoās touch and eyes clouded with confusion scan her face. A weak voice pointedly utters: āWho are you?ā
There was a physical ache in her heart at the sight of the blankness that met her gaze. Calypsoās smile faltered as she stepped back to pick up the photo of the three of them. āItās me, darling.ā She cooed, placing the dusty frame onto her lap. āItās.. your mother.ā Vacant eyes were staring down at the photo, eyebrows furrowing in distress as she grew afraid of the strange womanās presence.
Who is this woman? Why is she crying?
Iām afraid. I want my mother.
Iām calling for him but he isnāt answering.
After the nurse pries Calypso out of the room, she began to explain her daughterās condition. Late stages of dementia? She was barely able to take in anything the nurse said as Celine cries for her brother behind the door. She had nearly forgotten everything, everyone that was important to her. Gently pushing the door with her hand, Calypso took another glance at her daughter from across the room. All she saw was a shell of the little girl that used to sing and twirl around in her bedroom in the morning. All the dreams of making up for lost time seemed to shatter in front of her completely. The apology she thought over in her head a million times during the flightā- Celine would never know or understand what happened to her mother.
Celineās condition tore apart the fabric of their bond and left her without recognition or solace for the years of absence. It was too selfish for her to hide away, grieving the loss of her daughter despite the fact she was still alive. Returning to the home was a feat in itself but she refused to allow her little girl to remain alone in that room with the company of strangers.
Calypso stormed into the nursing home, walking past the reception and halting at the door that read Celine Morozova. Taking a moment to gather her composure, a thumb hesitantly traced the rim of the doorknob before she steps forward and enters the room. A large brown box was sitting atop her bed. It didnāt seem like she was in here. The brunette opts to check the box which was full of Celineās belongings. A nurse slowly entered the room and offered Calypso a seat with a gentle voice.
āMiss Morozova, Iām afraid your daughter passed away shortly after your visit last month.ā
She goes on to explain that without Calypsoās contact details, they couldnāt let her know sooner. Everything else, however, was entirely tuned out by a ringing in her ears and a sinking in her chest as trembling hands gripped onto the mattress beneath her. The thought of her little girl passing away without anyone by her side on this very bed made the ordeal weigh heavier on her shoulders. Tears well up and spill onto her dress as she shook her head in denial. How could she lose Celine twice? How could she be so thoughtless? Was she calling for her mother the same way she called for Celio during her visit?
All thatās left is a dusty box of old belongings and permanent guilt sheād carry in her conscience for as long as she livedā- for she had failed at being the mother those children needed not once, but twice.
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