Let Mom Help You One Last Time

I Couldn't Move On After My Mother Passed. Then I Found Her Diary: "Let Mom Help You One Last Time." After Mom passed away. I was lost in a dark place for a long time. More than once, I wanted to jump off that bridge. But Mom was the wind blowing across the water. Time and time again, pushing me back to safety. ...... It was 1 AM when I finally got home. When I opened the door, Dad was exactly as he always was. His thumb and index finger weakly pinching a glass of whiskey, pouring it down his throat. I couldn't help but think that after Mom passed. I wasn't the only one who couldn't move on. Dad was trapped, too. But neither of us knew how to hide our emotions. Just like right now, he wanted to present the image of a cheerful dad welcoming his daughter home for the holidays. But all I saw was. A miserable man with tear stains all over his face, forcing a smile. He pulled the corners of his mouth up toward his ears. Looking at me helplessly, waiting for a hug. I mirrored his expression, forcing a smile of my own. Then I put my backpack down, stepped forward, and hugged him tightly. He said, "Chloe, have you eaten?" "Let me make you some mac and cheese." Saying that, he let go of me and went into the kitchen. He reached up and pulled open the top cabinet. I watched from afar. Inside was an entire row of instant mac and cheese cups. Next to the microwave, there were several empty wrappers and cheese powder stains. I figured this was how he had been getting by all these days alone. This was our first Christmas after Mom left. It was too lonely, too bleak. Without her, we just couldn't manage our lives. I couldn't hold it in anymore. My tears dripped onto the floor like a leaky faucet. Dad seemed a little drunk. Not only did he fail to notice my breakdown. But he also accidentally knocked a stack of bowls and plates onto the floor. The sound of shattering porcelain instantly scared my tears back. I ran over to him. The back of his hand was cut. The blood dripped... It dripped right onto a notebook. I froze for a moment. A diary? 2 My mom's name was Mary. She only had a middle school education. She knew how to read, but not perfectly. She still made spelling mistakes. The names saved in her phone contacts. Many of them were spelled phonetically or as jokes. For example, Mrs. Sullivan from the farmer's market. She saved her as: Sue Livin, "Her vegetables are a rip-off." Mrs. Baker from the grocery store. She saved her as: Bakes Bad, "Was mean to Chloe, never buying her stuff again." And her best friend, Aunt Brenda. She saved her as: Brenda Bestie, "Chloe loves her, so I love her too." Every time I saw her contact list, I wanted to laugh. But every time I saw what she named me, I wanted to cry. She wrote: Chloe Miller, "Mary's sweet girl," "My absolute favorite." With three little heart emojis at the end. And now, I was holding a diary in my hands. Filled entirely with her own handwriting. There was a message on the cover. "For Chloe." "My dearest daughter." "If you don't know how to live your life anymore." "Then let Mom help you one last time." The diary was thick. I flipped through it quickly. Every page was completely filled. And the handwriting was incredibly neat. There were no spelling mistakes, no scribbled-out words. She probably guessed it—I always hated it when my school notebooks looked messy. Naturally, I'd want a diary to be clean and tidy, too. So she must have secretly practiced for a long time. In an instant, my eyes burned. To control my emotions, I put the diary away. Then I helped my dad into the living room. And bandaged his wound. 3 2 AM. Dad had fallen asleep on the couch. I lay in my bedroom. Too afraid to open the diary. Eventually, I couldn't take the silence. So I imitated how Mom used to be. I put on yellow rubber gloves and tied an apron around my waist. I deep-cleaned the entire house from top to bottom. Just to distract myself. I remembered, she used to do this every year a few days before Christmas. The sofa—she insisted on pulling it out to sweep up the dust bunnies underneath. The pots and pans—everything had to be scrubbed spotless. The bedsheets—we had to put on fresh, newly bought ones. She said the holidays meant a fresh start, everything had to begin anew. Whether it was something terrible or something wonderful. It was all left in the past year. A new year meant embracing new changes. She also said. Whether it's heartbreaking or painful. Whether it's joyful or lucky. We have to accept it all calmly. Everything must look forward. Right. I had to accept the fact that she was gone. By the time I finished cleaning the house. It was already morning. Dad still hadn't woken up. And I had already put on a thick winter coat and headed to the store. In past years, Mom and I always went to pick out a Christmas wreath together. She would always be so picky, saying one didn't look full enough. Or another didn't have the right holiday spirit. It would take her half the day just to choose one. But now, standing in front of the old man selling wreaths in the parking lot. I didn't know what to pick. They all looked exactly the same to me. A piercing, bright green and red. Especially the wooden sign that read "Home for the Holidays." It stung my eyes. In the end, just like rushing through a homework assignment. I picked one at random. After buying it, I couldn't help but think of her again. But this time, there was a bit of resentment. I couldn't help but complain in my heart. Look, Mom. I haven't grown up yet. I don't even know how to pick out a simple wreath. It's all your fault, leaving too early. You didn't even have time to teach me. Later, after I walked around the market, I realized. Mom didn't just fail to teach me how to pick out a wreath. How to buy the sweetest apples in winter. How to pick the freshest vegetables. How to haggle with the vendors. She never taught me any of it. Even the fastest route back home. She had never mentioned it. Otherwise. Why was it that the further I walked, the blurrier the road ahead became? 4 When I got home, Dad was still nursing a hangover. He saw me holding bags of groceries. And sobered up instantly. Without even putting his slippers on properly, he took the bags from my hands. After putting them down, he came back and gently rubbed my freezing, red hands. He said, "It's all my fault, I drank too much again." "Are you tired? Are you hungry? Should Dad make you some mac and cheese?" After he spoke, a flash of guilt crossed his eyes. I saw his mouth twitch. Then he explained. "I'm sorry, mac and cheese is the only thing Dad knows how to make." I nodded. It was true. Dad only knew how to make mac and cheese and how to make money. Mom took care of us too well. So, after she left. Our world. Just collapsed. I shook my head and told Dad I'd already eaten a breakfast sandwich at the market. Then I went into the kitchen. Just like in the early hours of the morning. I picked up the apron. Imagining Mom's posture. Making the dough. Slicing the apples. Baking an apple pie. I tried to keep myself as busy as possible. To make myself forget about the diary Mom left behind. It was the only piece of her I had left. I wanted to wait for a solemn, perfect moment to open it. Because it said. "For Chloe." "My dearest daughter." "If you don't know how to live your life anymore." "Then let Mom help you one last time." I thought, I couldn't let Mom down. I couldn't let her know that my life was falling apart. 2 (Author's Chapter Numbering) But, I was pathetic. That solemn, perfect moment. Just arrived without any warning. After failing to make the pie crust for the umpteenth time. I suddenly missed her like crazy. Why could she blend the flour and butter so perfectly? Yet every time I tried, it turned into a sticky, ruined mess. Why could she do everything so flawlessly. And I couldn't even make a simple dough. Did I even deserve to be her daughter? Should I have been the one to get cancer? Should I have been the one writing a final diary? The more I thought about it, the more twisted my mind became. Until my eyes landed on the kitchen knife on the counter. My bloodshot eyes widened. I guess it was because I had been quiet for too long. Dad rushed in. He arrived just in time. I hadn't lost too much blood yet. My consciousness was still clear. I could hear him screaming my name. I could hear the ambulance sirens. And. In a daze. I thought I heard Mom say. "Silly girl." "How can you be so clumsy? You can't even make a simple dough?" "Be good, Mom will teach you." 3 That's right. Mom. I'm too clumsy. Come back and teach me. 4 The doctor pulled my dad out into the hallway. He said I had severe depression and suicidal tendencies. Then the doctor shot me a cautious look. And pulled Dad into another room entirely. They were discussing my condition. I wondered if my dad was going to break down. His wife died of cancer. And now his daughter was severely depressed. Would it push him over the edge? I imagined him crying and venting to the doctor. But suddenly, I couldn't feel empathy anymore. I just thought the birds outside the window looked so free. I felt a bit happy, and I smiled. At dusk. I finally couldn't bear the weight of missing her. I opened the first page of the diary. I was afraid that if I didn't open it now. I might never get the chance to. 5 The first page of the diary. Was Mom's secret whisper to me. She wrote: "Chloe." "When you heard Mom decided to stop treatment, were you really angry?" "Don't be mad, sweetie." "Just think of it as doing Mom a favor." "Mom is in so much pain." "Please don't ignore Mom in these final days." "Mom wants to talk to you a lot." "Otherwise, I just can't be at peace." ...... "Chloe." "After you left the hospital room, Mom thought for a long time." "It's all my fault for spoiling you so much." "I turned you into a little princess who doesn't know how to do anything." "If Mom could stay by your side forever, I wouldn't worry at all." "But Mom has to leave soon." "There are things I have to teach you before I can rest." "But I thought about it... Mom isn't highly educated." "The only thing I can teach you is common sense." "Then I thought about it some more." "Mom's wish isn't a big one." "I just want you to live a good life." "So, this diary." "Besides expressing how much Mom loves you." "Is also here so that, after Mom is gone." "You can learn how to live well." 6 Mom was right. I didn't know how to do anything. When I was little, learning to ride a bike, other kids got it in a few days. But I was terrified the bike was too tall, and absolutely refused to get on. Mom never forced me. She said: "If you're scared, then we won't learn. From now on, Mom is your bicycle." "Mom will carry you anywhere you want to go." Later in elementary school, the neighbor's daughter was learning ballet. When she danced, she looked like a little fairy. Mom's eyes were full of admiration. She looked at me and asked. "Chloe, do you want to turn into a fairy too?" I cluelessly shook my head and told her I didn't want to learn, I just wanted to play in the mud. She still didn't force me to do anything I didn't want to do. She just squatted down and helped me build a mud castle. She told me: "It's okay. It doesn't matter if Chloe can't dance. Mom just wants Chloe to be happy in her own little world." In middle school, my homeroom teacher called Mom in. I hid behind Mom while they discussed whether I might have autism. The teacher said: "Mrs. Miller, you should take Chloe to see a doctor. She doesn't say a single word in class all day, it makes it very hard for us to teach her." Mom rubbed my head, her eyes full of pride. "She doesn't speak because she doesn't want to speak." "When she wants to talk, she'll talk." Later, throughout all of high school. I rarely ever spoke up in class. But I never felt like I was any different from anyone else. Just like Mom said. I didn't speak because I didn't want to. Everyone thought I was arrogant, stubborn, aloof, and completely full of myself. Doing whatever I wanted just because I had good grades. I didn't deny it; I was definitely cocky. Because I knew, no matter what I did. She would always have my back. I always believed. That under her wings, I would go far. Fly higher. But. Suddenly, one day. God took her wings away. I lost my protection. I fell into complete panic. I felt that a life without Mom. Was just that. Not worth living. So, I started trying to find her, over and over again. I once stood on her tiptoes on a thirty-story rooftop. But a gust of wind blew me back. I also plunged into the ocean, breathlessly asking if she could take me with her. And again, a wave crashed and pushed me back onto the shore. Later, the edge of the cliff I went to, the tip of the knife I picked up. There was always a breeze beside me. Stopping me from staring into the eyes of death. I had my answer. That wind was her. And this diary she left behind. Was her broken wings. 7 For some reason, I felt it was a bit absurd. Even a little ridiculous. How should a daughter live after losing the mother she loved most? She was actually trying to teach me with a diary. Didn't she know? I didn't want to live at all. I just wanted to see her right now. To be held tightly in her arms.

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