“I understand.”

                  Click.  The phone hung on the wall, with one hand still tightly clenched to it.  The woman holding it choked back her tears as she stood alone, motionless.  Her kids would be home soon.  She had to be strong.  She could never show them that she was hurting.  She had to be their support.  She had to do all this even though all she could think about were her dreams, hopes, wants, and wishes all washing away.  There was no longer need for such things in her life.  She needed to rid herself of them, and focus on what was real; what was now. 

                  Still attached to the phone, she heard the front door open and her sons pile into the house.  Quickly and quietly she regained her composure.  Be strong.  Don’t show them.  She walked downstairs and greeted her two young, innocent children.  They were all she had.  They were her life, her everything.  She grabbed them both, as they removed their backpacks, and held them tight in her arms.  She fought hard not to breakdown.  The children thought nothing of this, for this was the usual greeting they received from their mother upon arrival from school.

                  “How was your day?… Good… What did you learn?… What else is new?…”

                  Even though she asked these questions she paid little attention to the answers.  There was only one thing that was on her mind, and even though she tried to push it out, it remained.  A seed was planted in her brain, and the more she thought of it the more it grew.  Larger and larger, until that would be her one thought, her new passion.  Don’t let it get to you, you still have time.

                  All she had left were the three following weeks.  Twenty-one days to live as much as she could.  Twenty-one days to teach her boys about life.  Twenty-one days to make her impression on earth.  Twenty-one days left, and a lifetime of memories to look back on while she remained.

                  It’s hard for me to remember much of my mother, because she died when I was still fairly young.  I can’t remember much about how she looked, unless I look at a photo, or how she smelled or walked, but what I can remember is her voice.  She had a soft, smooth, velvet voice like and angel.  I can remember how soft words would gently leap off of her sweet tongue, as though it caressed each letter before it was made audible.  Words were given new meanings when they came from her mouth.  That’s not the reason I remember her voice though.  Her voice was the last thing I had ever sensed from her, my last memory of her.  Remembering her voice now, brings me to Providence.

                  When I was ten years old, my mother had an illness, I’m still unsure of what it was, and she was given only three weeks to live.  I can still remember the day she found out how long she was given.  Not because I was around when it happened, but because the way she changed.  I can’t speak for my brother, because he was only six at the time, but I always knew she was sick.  I had never known the condition, or its severity.  I can still remember the day clearly in my mind.  I returned home from school with my brother, and I heard my mom softly sobbing upstairs as I removed my outerwear.  Quickly, she attended to us and hugged us, as was routine, but it was unlike any other embrace she had given us.  Looking back, it was almost as if she died at that moment.  I feel vain to say it, but it’s as though she got the privilege of seeing us that last time, and she could pass on happily. 

We were all she had.  She was all we had.  No father, no grandparents, no uncles, no aunts, nothing.  She was our world.  She knew at the time what would happen to us, but we were left in the dark.  I had no Idea what Child Services was.  I knew not what living in a foster home would be like.  I had no idea what life without my brother, let alone my mother, would be like.  My only family was to be taken away from me, and all I had until that happened were three weeks.

                  As I was saying, I remember the day my mother was diagnosed.  She never mentioned anything about it.  Instead, things were just different; but not different enough to put your finger on, just different.  It was almost like a science fiction movie where the main character thinks everyone has changed, but in the end it was him that changed, and for some reason his finding this out is very tragic.  Anyways, that night things went on as usual.  My mother prepared dinner as my brother and I played and washed up.  At the table, no one spoke.  My mother just looked at us with soft glassy eyes.  I now wish at that moment I would have been older, been a man, and comforted her, taken some of the burden.  I can only imagine how painful that whole situation was on her mind, and on her still living soul.

                  It was late at night.  Far past midnight, and I could hear my mother’s soft footsteps up and down the hallways outside of the bedrooms.  All the sound was were soft bare feet patting up and down the hardwood floors.  There was one light on outside my room and through the crack left open in my door I could see my mother’s figure occasionally pass by.  In the bed next to me I could hear my brother breathing deeply as innocent dreams weaved themselves in his head.  Between footsteps and breaths, and as my mother drew nearer to the door I thought I was able to hear her uttering something.  I thought nothing of it for the moment, and closed my eyes to sleep.  That’s when I heard the bedroom door softly squeak open.  I dared not open my eyes.  The footsteps grew closer and closer, and I could feel my mother’s warm presence in between the two beds.  Her breathing was slightly altered, for she must have been crying, but a soft whisper came from her mouth.

                  “Don’t wait for me, you’ve got a lot to do, you’ve got a lot to be, and in the end maybe I’ll see you there.”

                  I don’t know if it was harder for her to say it or for me to lay there with my eyes closed pretending to be asleep, listening to it.  My heart was crushed.  I knew how severe this was now.  I knew no matter what though, I could not tell my brother.  He was too young to understand.  I was even too young to understand.  I had no one to turn to, and that was probably the scariest part about everything.  Slowly, my mother gently crept out the room and squeaked the door slightly ajar, as it had been, behind her.  I was left alone with nothing more than a few tears rolling down my cheeks. 

                  This continued night after night, and every night I would stay awake so I could hear my mother say the same words over and over again.  After she would leave I would pray, begging God to let her live, pleading to take my life instead.  I would do that until I fell asleep, or until morning came.  In the days, she would pick us up from school early, and take us out.  She was trying to pass on as much of herself to us as she could.  My brother was too young to know this, but I listened, and learned all I could from her.  But, sure as nightfall, my mother would sneak into our bedroom at night and quietly say the same words over and over.

                  Some days were worse than others.  I can remember times where she would be in bed all day, and when I would ask her what was wrong she would smile at me and tell me it was the flu.

                  I had no idea how long my mother had been given to live, and embraced every moment I had with her.  I wish I had known exactly how long she had before she would pass, because one night I finally told my brother.

                  “Listen, when I wake you up pretend you’re still asleep.  Don’t make any noise and don’t move, just keep your eyes closed and listen.”

                  That night I could hear my mother’s soft footsteps up and down the halls, when I gently crept out of bed and woke my brother.  I almost didn’t want to, for he was so peaceful when he slept.  As I woke him I felt that I was hindering the world from an ultimate beauty.  He lay in bed awake with his eyes shut, and I snuck back beneath my covers.  Shortly after, my mother gently peered in through the door to ensure we were asleep.  As she thought we were, she entered.  I could feel her in between the two beds, and I could feel my brother awake with me.  Softly she whispered into our ears.

                  “Don’t wait for me, you’ve got a lot to do, you’ve got a lot to be, and in the end maybe I’ll see you there.  And in the end, you know I’ll see you there.”

                  My mother’s voice is what I can remember from her, those soft words not wanting to leave her mouth.  Each letter wanted to stay in its cocoon, but she would free them as the glorious butterflies they were.  I don’t know if it was harder to listen to my mother say those words every night, or for her to come say them.  I think that her saying them was some kind of release.  Something she felt she needed to do.

                                                               ~

                  I lay in bed one night, and my brother woke me softly.  He never told me why, but he told me to keep my eyes closed, and not say anything, and not to move.  I had done as he instructed.  My mother walked into our room shortly after, and I heard her say something to us.  I was too tired to understand what it was, because I was caught in the world between dreams and reality.  I tried to listen, but the words she spoke made little sense to me.  I remember feeling so bad that the next night I stayed awake as long as I could in hopes of her return to repeat herself.  I must’ve been up for most of the night, but the house was silent, and my mother never came into our room.  It was the next day, when I got out of bed that I understood what she had said to us the night before.