“Mum, you left the light on all night again!” Alex called out as he stepped into the kitchen, irritation in his voice.
“Oh, I mustve dozed off, love. Was watching a show and just drifted away,” his mother replied with a guilty smile.
“At your age, you should be sleeping at night, not glued to the telly!”
She said nothing, just tightened her dressing gown around herself, hiding the slight tremble from the chill.
Alex lived in the same town but rarely visitedonly when he “had the time.”
“Brought you some fruit and your blood pressure meds,” he said briskly.
“Thank you, son. God bless you,” she murmured softly.
She reached out to touch his face, but he stepped backalways in a hurry.
“Got to go, work meeting. Ill call sometime this week.”
“Alright, love. Take care,” she whispered.
As the door closed, she stood by the window for a long while, watching him disappear around the corner.
She pressed a hand to her chest and whispered,
“Take care because I wont be here for much longer.”
The next morning, the postman slipped something into the old letterbox.
Mary shuffled to the gate and pulled out a yellowed envelope with familiar handwriting.
On it was written:
*”For my son, Alex, when Im gone.”*
She sat at the table, her hand trembling slightly as she began to write:
*”My dear boy,
If you’re reading this, Ive gone without saying all I wanted to.
Know this: mothers never really die. They just hide inside their childrens hearts, so it doesnt hurt as much.”*
She paused, her eyes lingering on an old photolittle Alex with scraped knees.
*”Remember when you fell out of that tree and swore youd never climb again?
I taught you how to get back up.
Thats what I want nowfor you to rise again, not with your body, but with your spirit.”*
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she folded the letter and sealed it.
*”Leave by the gate on the day I go.”*
Three weeks later, the phone rang.
“Mr. Alex? Its the hospital your mother passed last night.”
He said nothing. Just closed his eyes.
When he stepped into her house, it smelled of lavender and quiet.
Her favourite mug sat on the table, lipstick still on the rim.
In the letterboxan envelope with his name.
Inside, her handwriting:
*”Dont cry, love. Tears wont bring back whats lost.
I left your blue jumper in the wardrobe. Washed it so many timesit still smells like childhood.”*
Alex broke.
Every word ached like a memory he couldnt undo.
*”Dont blame yourself. I knew you had your own life.
But mothers live on even the crumbs of their childrens time.
You called rarely, but every call was a gift.
I dont want you to hurt. Just remember
I was always proud of you.”*
At the bottom:
*”When youre cold, press your hand to your heart.
That warmth? Thats mestill beating inside you.”*
He fell to his knees, clutching the letter.
“Mum why didnt I come more?”
The house answered with silence.
He slept right there on the floor.
When he woke, sunlight streamed through the old curtains.
He touched her thingscups, photos, her chair.
On the fridge, a note:
*”Alex, I made shepherds pie. Its in the freezer. Knew youd forget to eat.”*
He wept again.
Days passed, but peace didnt come.
He worked, he lived, but his mind stayed in that house with the yellow curtains.
One weekend, he returned.
He opened the window, and birdsong filled the room.
The postman stepped into the garden.
“Morning, Mr. Alex. My condolences.”
“Thanks.”
“Your mum left one more letter. Said to give it when you came back.”
He unfolded it:
*”Love,
If youre here, you mustve missed me.
This house isnt just an inheritanceits a living memory.
Put flowers on the sill. Make tea.
And dont keep the light just for yourselfleave it on for me. Maybe Ill see it from up here.”*
He smiled through tears.
“Mum Ill leave it on every night. Promise.”
Stepping outside, he looked up at the sky.
For a moment, he thought he saw hera silhouette in a flowered nightdress, smiling down.
“You taught me how to live, Mum Now teach me how to live without you.”
Years passed.
The house stayed warm, alive.
Alex visited oftenwatering flowers, fixing the fence, making tea as if for two.
Once, he brought his five-year-old son.
“Your grandma lived here,” he said.
“Where is she now, Dad?”
“Up there. But she can hear us.”
The boy waved at the sky.
“Granny! I love you!”
Alex smiled through tears.
And the wind seemed to whisper back:
*”I love you too. Both of you.”*
Because no mother ever truly leaves.
She lives in how you laugh, how you rise, how you tell your own children *”I love you.”*
Because a mothers love is the only letter that never gets lost.
