Aunt Zell and Uncle Ash were leaving as I brought the puppy downstairs next morning. "Thank you so much for bringing me this adorable puppy!" I exclaimed. "He is just what I always wanted! He snuggled with me all night and didn't even pee on the floor. It was so kind of you to bring him here."
Aunt Zell smiled wistfully. "Well, dearier," she said softly, " I know it's not the same as having your mother, but at least he can keep you company and maybe cheer you up just a little. We'll all miss your mother dreadfully, but life does go on, and the pain will get easier, and maybe this little fluff ball will help you along the way."
I ran to them for hugs, and tried not to cry. It had only been a week since the accident, and I was missing Mama very much. I was only 14, and she was only 35, and it all seemed so dreadfully unfair. Now I would probably need to take care of my three younger siblings much of the time, and learn how to cook, and still try to get my homework done and practice the violin every day. Music was keeping me sane these days, but the puppy was going to help a lot, I could tell. I had already decided what to name him: Fuzzle. Because he was just a funny little ball of fuzz.
I waved as cheerfully as I could when Aunt Zell and Uncle Ash drove off. They only lived 20 miles away, and I knew I'd see them often, but still, it was hard to see them leave. They had been so supportive while they visited.
Oh gosh, that's right. I keep forgetting. You still just seem like you. Not.... I sat up with a start from my weird dream. In my dream, I was seeing my mother face to face, and she seemed so real. Not dead at all. I began to cry, realizing I would never really see her again this side of heaven. Fuzzle knew something was wrong, and crawled over next to me to lick the tears off my cheeks. "Oh Fuzzle, I don't know what I'd do without you. You are the best present ever!" He wriggled happily and chewed on the collar of my nightie.
We got up and went downstairs. I took him outside right away to do his business, and then came in for breakfast. Oops. I had to make it myself, and my little sisters and brother would be downstairs any minute, looking for food. Quickly, I got out the canister of oatmeal, read the directions, and started to prepare some. I didn't know how much to make, so I just guessed. Dad must have already eaten and gone out to do the farm chores. He always got up super early, and it looked as if the toaster had been used. There was coffee already perked, too. I never drank coffee, but I wondered if I might be allowed to now that I was trying to fill my mother's place as kitchen manager. I poured myself half a mug and took a sip. Ew!! What was it that my parents liked about that stuff? It was strong, and horrid. I grabbed a jug of creamer and filled the cup the rest of the way with it. Ah, much better!
The day I killed 100 mosquitoes was the day I figured I was finally getting the hang of being a substitute mother. My youngest sister had left the screen door open, and the house was full of them. I swatted like crazy for hours, and finally they all seemed to be gone. How did mother ever keep up? I wondered. There were so many details to keep up with, including making sure the screen door remained closed. I had turned 15 last week, and some days I felt as if I was already 25. My siblings were largely cooperative, but some days I realized I just didn't have the authority of a real parent, and I had to give up and wait for Daddy to deal with it when he came in for the next meal. Poor Daddy was trying to make the best of it. I'm sure he missed Mama more that I did, but he never complained. He helped me cook meals whenever he had time, and he never complained about my cooking, which wasn't always great. I was learning to read recipes and follow instructions. I had already known how to clean house, but I never realized how much constant effort it takes to keep it that way. Sometimes I didn't succeed, and the clutter got rather bad, but Daddy never found fault with me. He knew I was doing my best.
And then there was the matter of Tom. He always sat with me at lunch, and we rode the same bus and sat together there, too. He was very kind, and thoughtful, and seemed to understand when I was having a bad day. Sometimes he would come over with his violin and we would play duets in the evening after supper. He was a good friend, but sometimes I wondered if he wanted to be my boyfriend. I wished Mama was there to talk it over with her.
If you've never done a freewrite, especially a weekend 3-part freewrite, you can read all about it here. Thanks once again to @mariannewest for providing the prompts, which are in italics in my story.
Wow that was just such a beautiful story @scribblingramma, I have not lost my mother so I can't understand what that would mean, but I do imagine you grow up real quick, thanks for sharing, it's awesome.
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This post is AWESOME!
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Thank you for reading the story. It is fiction. I was near 40 when my mother died, but I still missed her a lot.
What a great story! You write so well! :) I actually want to see what happens. ❤️Thanks for sharing with us & keep up the great work. You Are Awesome 👍
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@pixiepost - Comment Moderator
The goal of this project is to "highlight Awesome Content, and growing the Hive ecosystem by rewarding it".
Thank you for your kind words!