There is no sadness quite like that of a mother's tears.
She wandered her own home in a daze, cooking, cleaning, and always the feeling lingered. That empty, hollow feeling that something was missing. Something deep, and important, something she swore she would not lose as long as she lived and breathed.
Yet, here she was, trying to remember what it was she had lost.
She would see things sometimes, flashes of a face or a colour or the bright flash of teeth in a goofy grin, forgotten even as she remembered them. She felt as though she were reaching for something that wasn't there, or more appropriately, something that danced out of reach every time she tried. She sometimes thought that she might have gone insane, but something inside told her no, she wasn't. Just lonely. Lonely for something that wasn't there. Something she desperately wanted to see again.
But… What was it? Where?
There was a room in her house. On the second floor, up the stairs, the second door on the left. It faced the ocean, and that cute little island the kids played on. She knew this only because she could see the window from her garden outside.
She couldn't go in the room.
For many days, she would burst into irrational tears every time she even saw it, without knowing why. After this time had passed, she found that, even when she dared approach the room, she couldn't muster the will to open the door. That door which stood like a brick wall standing tauntingly in her vision from the top of the stairs.
Some days it overwhelmed her, this feeling and all the unknowns it brought with it. There was something missing, and that was all she could remember. Something missing that was so very important.
There were children in her neighborhood. Children she knew by face and by name, but could not for the life of her figure out why she knew them or how she'd met them. They were mysteries to her; no matter how well she knew them, or how often they would have a passing conversation on the street.
She found herself trying to avoid these innocuous teenagers. She couldn't understand why. Only that the feeling of loss grew worse when she saw them.
Child… Children…
She shook her head, and the thoughts were gone. What had she been thinking about?
Ah. The room.
The window was always shut, seeing as there was no one to open it, and being on the second floor, she couldn't see much inside. Just a pair of curtains, and the occasional something or other that was hanging from the ceiling. It was not uncommon for her to be found standing in her back yard, doing nothing but staring at that singular, innocent window.
She stood in her kitchen, frying pan in one hand, and a spatula in the other. The sizzle of bacon completed the scene, and she turned her thoughts inwards.
All of these things, the window, the door, and those seemingly unknown children, wrought such feelings of loss and regret, feelings that made her want to never leave her room again.
But at the same time, after burrowing through these cold and sharp thoughts, they also filled her with a sense of warmth. Hope. Anticipation. After some time, she started to search for these feelings first, instead of paying sole attention to her loss.
There was a reason. There had to be a reason that these simple things would do this to her. To cause such a complex network of emotions to run rampant within her. Heaven and Hell be damned if she wasn't going to try to find out why!
And therein laid the problem.
Where was she to start?
Tim went by. She talked with those children that were so achingly familiar, and every time she went to the door she got a little bit closer. Disjointed memories of colours and small details began to slowly fall together.
It was too slowly though. She wanted to know. She needed to know. Who was it?
She was startled. Yes… It was a 'who' she was searching for. Not an 'it' or a 'thing'. She was searching for somebody. Somebody she held dear.
There was a look of comprehension on her face, mirrored by the red-haired girl sitting only a few feet away from her. She'd invited her over, after a friendly conversation a few days before. She'd felt connected to the girl somehow, like a close cousin or sister, or maybe even a daughter.
"Did you…?" The girl spoke after a long silence. Both were within their own minds, trying to wrest more from there uncooperative memories.
"I did." She answered, staring off into space as though it would reveal all she ever wanted to know.
"Do you think he'll come back?" It was a rhetorical question, but she answered anyways.
"I know he will."
I'm not a mother. I can't say I know exactly how a mother would feel with Sora's unique set of circumstances. But having a very close relationship with my own mother, and a little bit of creative license, I'd like to think that this is at least somewhat worthy of what I'm trying to convey.
I should've put this up for Mothers day.