What Silence Means
Momma, it's been one month. No calls. Nothing. Well I know you're old fashioned like that and I accepted that texting will never be your thing, unless of course under special circumstances. (Where you communicate in letters, whew, I guess if you mastered Morse code then dots would have been the story of my life.) The last time we talked you were working on something, I mean, money for school fees and upkeep. So one month, what have I been eating? Or what is going on back there?
Momma, folks here expect me to call back, that's what a good daughter should do. I unlikely pass the bar on relationships but mum I can't call you. I think of you everyday that goes and I know better than to call so fast. Because everything I want to tell you starts with I need money and ends with I need even more money than before.
You know long before, you'd call me at least twice a week, from butt-dials, to goodnights, to checking up on me and talking to all my friends; you know them all by name, you'd even call to ask where I am for no reason. You would ask if i'm bored and needed money to blow on weekend plans. So this is not you, going MIA on your daughter. And this is not me either, holding back on exercising my rights, oh, rights to basic needs, I mean money and that I need that desperately.
So the last time you called, one month ago, it wasn't "how are you lastie," you know like you are used to. I wasn't jumping in too to say, "hi mom!" The last time was hush, for a few seconds then the mood set in. It was heavy on me too, the gloom that befell my face. So all protocols observed, and I am not fine this time when you ask, and the same was for you, but we didn't need to ask why. Mum we both know.
Mum I know it kills you every time you pick up that phone to tell me there is nothing for me yet. Can you bear the pain every twice a week to tell me the same crushing news over and over? I know you as the mum who burns her candles at both ends and how agonizing it is for you to feel like you are failing me. So you don't have to go through that.
Mum I don't call because I don't wanna add more salt to the injury. I don't wanna be told what I already know, I don't wanna make you say it till it sticks. I'm already OD'd on this bitter pill; can't take it no more.
I know how far you're stretching and eventually you'll make ends meet, and you will call and we won't have to save ourselves any more pain.
It's been a month since but it's okay for we both know what this silence means. On every other silent night when you cross my mind, I close my eyes and I pray for you even more than myself.
I will be anonymous, and I will not be brief. I will not mince my words, even if I might come across as vague. Monica dear, momma knows best. Even when she don't got shit figured out, she remembers, she knows and she hurts. Most importantly, she will call and she will call you lastie and you will have a hearty laugh that ends in you telling her you love her.
ReplyDeleteIt's happened already so I'm grateful to God!!
DeleteWhat a read! Life truly has a way of crushing us.
ReplyDeleteAnd we rise above, thanks for reading!
DeleteLoved reading this. It has a surreal intensity to it. I commend your writing style and the passion expressed in your choice of words 😊
ReplyDeleteIt's really relatable. Except well I had/have to see my mom every day but it was the same. "Was" because things did look up, the proverbial brighter days did come. Still not out of the pits, but I have seen worse days. In most ways, a mother's love is in the pain she feels when her children don't seem to have things going their way and she has stretched herself almost to her elastic limits. A mother's love is in the little looks she serves you, soft, gentle, probing, with pain but with sprinkles of love and with hope, hope that you can see what she is going through and appreciate what she has to offer, even though at the time it was/is a hug or affirmation or just talking and laughter. A mother's love shines when you match her scared uncertainty with assurance that despite it all, she's still your mother and all she could have done for you is more than enough.
Sometimes Lasty, sometimes you just have to make that phone call when you know it should have been made at, say 8pm and the clock is turning 8.05pm. Those might just be the longest 5 minutes Mommy dearest had to endure, holding the phone in quivering hands, fingers dialed 072..... Just 9 digits, all but the last one to fill out your phone number and make the call. I hope you can make that call to Mummy one of these silent nights, give her the love she burns the midnight oil to share with you