TW: Child dealing with grief
Aph missed her moms.
She came to this conclusion recently. Well, it wasn't necessarily a new discovery, but the strength of her grief was had been hitting her harder the last few months.
It was hard to gauge loss when you couldn't remember much of someone being there at all. Bits and pieces came through sometimes, making her pause- zoning out wherever she was at, eyes going a bit glassy and hands stopping, like a power off button on a machine- until Oscar's concerned noises registered in her ears. She would go back to playing as if nothing was wrong- like nothing happened.
Because nothing did happen. Not to her. She wasn't inside the building when it collapsed. Yes, she'd watched and had been injured in the rubble, but she was alive. She didn't understand the feelings she felt, but they felt big and all-consuming. They weren't present all the time, at least not in their entirety. Maybe they were always there a bit, laying under the surface, waiting for something to make her belly uneasy and her throat tighten until she can't get her words out.
Things like a mother walking the street, looking at her child with what can only be described as pure adoration. Dads holding their child's hand. Parents at playgrounds, watching their children slide and swing, talking to the other parents about whatever their child had gotten up to this week.
Aph was amazed by how much parents complained to each other about things that just didn't matter: a child's first day of preschool being cut short because all the child could do was cry for his mom, a mess one of the little girls had made, being at the park right now because they "need to get the energy out". One mom complained that her child wanted to play with her all the time, and she didn't have time to talk to do the dishes or clean the house.
Aph never understood. She would love to go to the school and give them a hug if someone wasn't okay. She would love to make messes, confident in herself that she would help clean them up. She looked at the park playground with longing, but she couldn't ask to play. She couldn't ask anything. She played with Oscar, though. He was enough for her. More than enough. Being alone for months made her grateful to have anyone at all.
But it's times like those where the big feelings stalk into her brain, because she doesn't have what those kids have. Was she not deserving of those things? Did she ever get those things?
She finds herself sitting at the memorial for the fallen building more frequently. Usually at night when Oscar falls asleep and she can slip out of the car. She trusts him, she does. If he asked where she was going, she would show him probably, but she just doesn't know how he'd react to seeing the memorial- to seeing her name on the plaque, marked as unaccounted for and presumed dead.
She's not dead though.
She sits against the concrete the holds up the plaque, hood draped over her head as the stars shine above her. The wind carries a chill that makes her pull her jacket sleeves over her hands more, bringing her knees to her chest. This is the closest thing she gets to her moms.
The ones she can't remember the faces of. She can hear their laughter, though its foggy, and see their smiles. One always smelled like sweet fruit and vanilla, the other of smoke and rose which melded together just enough to be pleasant.
She looked at the sky and holds those memories close.
'Hi mama...Hi mom...' she thinks.
Will she forget those cherished few memories too....?
