Regret
When I was much younger, Mum left me. I was four years old and couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I wasn't going to he see her face again. I waited by the window every night for her to come up the patio, smiling radiantly as if nothing had ever happened. It took a long time to realize she was never coming back. That I was on my own. Suddenly, the dark clouds that had once just been looming on the horizon, were now right over head, threatening a down pour so heavy that I was going to drown in it...
"Moira! Get down here, now!" Dad yelled at the top of his lungs.
I sighed and made my way downstairs, pulling out my earphones and putting my iPod on the hallway table. I opened the door and then switched off, like I always did, now.
I could see Dad's mouth moving but I didn't hear to the words. I knew how the lecture went, knew it off by heart, and so I didn't feel the need to listen any more.
"Moira, are you paying attention to anything I have just said?" Dad questioned angrily, his eyes blazing with a rage I had grown familiar with.
"Yes Dad. If I don't do the chores you've asked me to do at least 20 million times, you are stopping all my pocket money and grounding me until I'm 70. Have I got that about right?"
Dad sighed and his shoulders sagged under some invisible weight. "I wish you would start appreciating how lucky you are. You get almost everything done for you and yet you still complain when I ask you to do the simplest of chores. I don't know if I can take this much longer..." he trailed off, the anger replaced with a sadness that I wasn't accustomed to seeing on his face. Suddenly, he looked much older - withered and tired, his eyes sunk in and his cheekbones sticking out noticeably. What kind of daughter was I when I didn't even notice what was happening to my own father?
"Dad..." I tried, meaning to say something kind or reassuring that would smoothen out his worried face.
"I think you need to sit down, honey. I didn't want to tell you so soon, but I guess there isn't going to be a right time. You might find this shocking, Moira. It's about your mother."
It felt like I had just been punched in the stomach; my lungs had stopped functioning properly and my heart was beating so rapidly that I was afraid it was going to literally explode. Blood rushed around my body and deafened me, and I couldn't breathe.
"Mum," I whispered, closing my eyes and falling back onto the couch. Nothing could have prepared me for this. Not a warning, or some notice. This was it. This was the day I was going to find out who my mum was and where she was living. And yet, guiltily, I didn't feel relieved or excited. I felt nervous. Scared, even.
"Moira? Are you all right, love? Speak to me," he demanded in a concerned voice that made me force my eyes open. His face was close to mine, his eyes full of worry. I tried to smile but by his expression, it looked more like a grimace.
"Do you feel sick?"
"Not really," I murmured, not entirely sure of that fact. I didn't feel like I was going to be sick, but there was an acidic taste burning my mouth and throat and my stomach was churning loudly.
"Maybe this isn't the best time-" he started.
"No! You need to tell me where she is! I have a right to know!" I screamed, my voice hoarse with emotion.
"OK, love. It's all right, just calm down," he soothed me, rubbing my arm with his rough hand. It didn't help. "Please tell me. Please."
He stared at me for a moment, and then nodded and turned away. His hands were clasped behind his back, trembling slightly.
"A special hospital in California phoned me today. They had only managed to locate me yesterday and there were still things to sort out. They told me that Elizabeth, your mother, had taken an overdose. They tried to revive her but they couldn't get her heart beating. She died last night."