Catrina by phmaxiestevez in Pixabay
A wake of the death
Daniel was so focused on Mom's absent gaze that he seemed lost in that maze that leads straight to death. I told her he'd never look at her again; and he didn't.
He was stunned. He never thought he would see her without life. I warned him, but he never listened. So many signs ignored by him today take their toll on him because he never believed that she was so sick, much less that she would die without him being able to fire her.
His half-open eyes seemed to be waiting to look at him before he left. It was his wish, to be able to look into her eyes before the mirror became cloudy, but her life was not enough and her glow became dulled.
Today I think Daniel's effort is worthless. So many hours of traveling to find her dead. I knew that would happen, that's why I insisted so much and he thought I was exaggerating.
"Daniel, mom is dying to see you... come back," I told him many times and he never listened.
As usual, our good intentions to have a quick and restrained lunch disappear with the first jug of wine.
The alcohol in the blood inflames the passions: "can another glass quench that thirst", I thought. But, I know I am fooled. Daniel will always be a dreamer who defends his sky and I a stake in the ground: the bad guy who nails the thorn that pricks his finger and forces him to wake up instead of continuing in his dreams.
"Did I or did I not tell you? I spit in his face a truth that was no longer relevant.
Hot, red with anger, sorrow, and alcohol, he replied, "I thought you were exaggerating!" - And he began to cry.
I, who had held back for so long from watching her fade away each day, exploded all my sorrow at the shared table and, for the first time, I felt the wine release something sublime in us.
I hugged, crying, my brother with the conviction that beyond the errors, love saves and blood calls.
Daniel vanished into my arms, slipping on the floor, and I was as scared as when I felt my mother's solo flight. As when I felt his body regain the weight loss in those months of bed. I was scared, thinking that he was leaving too, that she was taking him away, now that he was back.
His hands and ice-cold feet shook my spirit so much that the alcohol dissipated and my daze passed, for fear of believing him dead.
I put my ear to his chest and thought I didn't feel a heartbeat. I shook him so much, so much; screaming and crying he opened his eyes and laughing, he said, "You won!
And I, realizing that I was exaggerating my fear, very low while covering him with a shawl from our mother who was in her chair, just said: "Drunk!"
And, I don't know if I was hallucinating because of the anxiety I was suffering, but when I looked up I seemed to feel a trace of Mom's perfume coming out of the house and I imagined her dressed for death.
21/11/2020
In response to @mariannewest
3-Part Weekend Freewrite - 11/21/2020 Each message is highlighted in bold
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