Pixabay

After the funeral, Tina found herself standing in the hallway barefoot, in night. She was clutching a glass of water she no longer needed. The house hummed with a familiar silence so thick and heavy, it was so full of memories to ignore. The pictures frames on the walls were watching her, especially the one her mom was laughing in a kitchen full of smoke burnt from a pot of rice. Tina almost smiled at the memory, but it shattered before it could settle.

Tina came back home to assist her Dad and baby brother, but the reverse seems to be the case, all room whispered her mom's absence so loudly that it felt like a sound. Her Dad will be staring into nothing, his jaw clenched, just as if he's rehearsing all the things he wished he had said. Her brother Ayo hardly spoke, he only retreat behind his headphones, his grief silent but far from small.

One evening, Tina was sorting through her mother's old scarves, and then she found the color she used to hate so much - mustard color. That was her mom's favorite; too bright, too bold, and too her. She held the scarf close to her heart, and she inhaled the leftover scent of lavender and something warm she couldn't explain. Suddenly, she felt a soft hum fill the air, oh no other than her mother's hum. The same tune the Mom used to sing when preparing dinner late at night.

Tina froze.

"Mom?" She called before she could swallow it.

Silence. Only the old wall clock was ticking.

She nervously laughed at herself and then continued folding, and then there it was again - a low hum, floating through the room just like a memory that refused to fade.

Tina went to the kitchen, and the light flickered once before steadied. The kitchen was smelling fried plantain, just the way her mom used to made it on the days she tried to apologize without using words.

Tina's throat tightened.

"Goodness! Mom why do you leave so soon?" She cried, while leaning against the counter." "I was still learning how to love right."

Then, a voice, soft and fragile with grief came from the door way.

"Tina dear, you loved her enough."

Tina Turned. It was her Dad. He looked older, his shoulders more tired.

"I used to argued with her too," he said, walking in slowly. "But she always said that; love that never argues is love that has stop caring."

Tina blinked at her Dad, she was surprised to hear her Dad repeated her Mom's favorite line. Her Dad chuckled nervously and said "I guess you got your stubbornness from me and your mom."

Tina and her Dad sat together for the first time since she returned to talk, yes really talked. This time not about bills, errands or funeral arrangements, but about the woman who held them together even with her imperfections. Soon Ayo quietly joined them. He sat beside Tina, he pulled off his headphones just as if he's surrendering to a truth he could no longer avoid.

They shared memories, the funny ones first; the mismatched slippers, the burnt rice and her mother's insistence that every family querrel required food to settle it. Then the discussion shifted to the harder stories, ones wrapped in guilt, regrets and unspoken forgiveness.

At some point Tina noticed something strange. The kitchen felt full, just like someone else has taken seat among them. There was no ghost, no voice echod through the walls but there was a warmth in the air that settles on their shoulders. Yeah a familiar hand.

Ayo sniffed. "I felt relieved."

Tina swallowed, "me too."

Then their Dad placed his hands over them, though and unfamiliar gesture but welcome. He quietly said; "We heal by remembering, not by pretending it didn't hurt."

Days passed, and the house shifted slowly from the thick silence. The arguments that once sparked so easily now turned into conversations that ended in understanding instead of slamming doors. Grief was still there, but not a suffocating type; it was the kind that taught.

One evening, Tina stood outside the varanda, she was watching the sky turning to the exact shade of the mustard scarf she wrapped around her shoulders, she felt it's warmth like an embrace.

Tina whispered, "Mom may you continue to rest in peace, I hope we can see again. We're trying, maybe failing sometimes but we are trying."

A soft gust of wind brushed Tina's cheek.

Tina closed her eyes and let the moment sink
in.

And that was the first time she didn't feel ache or like ending since she came home.

It felt like the beginning of healing.

A healing woven not from letting go, but from remembering deeply, honestly and imperfectly.

Tina felt inside her, her mother's laughter rising, not as a ghost but as a reminder:

Love doesn't leave. It only changes shape.

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