I once called out from the window, Mum, why are you up so early? Youll catch your death from the cold! She turned to me, waved her snow shovel in greeting, and laughed, Im looking after you lot, you lazybones. The next day, my mum was gone.
Even now, walking past our old family garden sets my heart racing with sorrow. Each time I glimpse that narrow path, its as if a cold hand squeezes my heart. I remember taking a photograph of it that second of January I just happened upon her footprints in the snow, paused, and snapped a picture without knowing why. Now, that photograph is all I have left from those days.
We always celebrated New Years with the entire family. Mum was up at dawn on the thirty-first, as ever. I awoke to the aroma of sizzling sausages and the familiar sound of her bustling in the kitchen.
Come on, love, get up now! I need a hand with the salads or your father will gobble up all the ingredients before were done!
I came downstairs, hair a tangled mess and still in my old nightie. Mum wore her favourite apron the one with peaches, which Id bought for her as a child. She smiled at me, cheeks rosy from the ovens warmth.
Mum, can I at least have a cuppa first? I groaned.
Teas after, choppings now! She laughed, handing me a bowl of roast veg. Small pieces, mind not those great boulders you made last year.
We cut and chatted about everything under the sun. Mum told stories of her childhood New Years, when theyd have none of these fancy salads, just a bit of pickled herring and a handful of tangerines her father would bring home from work.
Dad soon burst in, arms full of a huge Christmas tree.
All right, ladies the trees here! he boomed.
Blimey, Dad, did you fell half the forest? I gasped.
Mum came out, looked at it, and shook her head in amusement, Its gorgeous, but where are we supposed to put it? Last years was smaller, at least.
Still, she joined in stringing up the fairy lights. My little sister, Alice, and I hung the baubles, while Mum pulled out the old ornaments shed saved since I was small. I can see her now, holding that little glass angel and saying softly, I bought this for your very first New Years Eve, remember?
I do, Mum, I lied, nodding. I couldnt recall, but I didnt say so. She glowed with happiness when she thought I remembered that tiny angel.
My brother arrived towards evening, making a racket as usual, arms full of shopping and gifts.
Mum, I bought decent bubbly this year! None of that sour stuff from before.
Just dont let everyone get carried away, you, Mum laughed, hugging him.
At midnight, we all headed out to the garden. Dad and my brother set off fireworks. Alice shrieked with delight. Mum stood beside me, arm tight around my shoulders.
Look, darling, isnt it beautiful? she whispered. A good life we have
I hugged her back. The best, Mum.
We passed the champagne bottle around, taking turns, laughing as the fireworks shot off towards the neighbours shed. Mum, a bit tipsy, danced in her woollen slippers to The Holly and the Ivy. Dad swept her up in his arms, and we all laughed till our sides ached.
On New Years Day, we lazed about. Mum cooked again this time, pies and a steaming pot of stew.
Mum, we really cant eat any more! I whined.
Oh hush, its the holidays youll manage, she shooed me away.
On the morning of the second, she was up early again. I heard the front door click shut and looked out to see her in the garden, shovelling. She was bundled in her old puffer coat, an old scarf knotted under her chin, clearing the path carefully: from the gate to the stoop, just as she always did. She swept the snow in tidy heaps by the walls.
I called out,
Mum, its freezing out! Come in, youll catch your death!
She turned, waved the shovel,
Otherwise you lot would be wading through snowbanks till spring! Put the kettle on, will you?
I smiled and headed for the kitchen. She came in half an hour later, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling.
All done now, she said, sitting down with her tea. Nice and tidy, see?
Its perfect, Mum. Thank you.
That was the last time I heard her voice so bright.
The morning of the third, she woke and said faintly,
Girls, theres a sharp pain in my chest nothing dreadful, just odd.
Immediately, I was on alert.
Mum, shall I ring the doctor?
Oh dont fuss, love. Its just from overdoing it, all that running about and cooking. Ill have a lie-down, itll pass.
She lay on the sofa, Alice and I keeping watch nearby. Dad dashed off to the chemist. Mum even joked,
Dont look at me like that, you two. Im not about to pop off, you know. Ill outlive you yet.
Then suddenly, she went pale. Clutched at her chest.
Oh I feel awful just awful
We called the ambulance. I held her hand and whispered,
Keep going, Mum, youll be alright soon
She looked up, barely audible,
Oh my loves I wish I didnt have to say goodbye.
The paramedics arrived quickly, but there was nothing to be done. A massive heart attack. It all happened so fast.
I sat on the hall floor and sobbed, unable to take it in. Yesterday shed been laughing, dancing under the fireworks, and now
Barely able to stand, I stepped outside. The snow fell softly. There were her footprints small and neat, running from the gate to the door. Exactly as she always made them.
I stared at them for what felt an age, asking heaven,
How can it be that, just yesterday, she walked here left her mark in the snow and now she is gone? There are footprints, but no one to make them.
It seemed, or perhaps it didnt, that on that second of January, she had gone out for the last time to leave us a clear path, so wed have a way to follow without her.
I couldnt bring myself to sweep them away. I asked everyone else to leave them too, to let them stay till the snow covered them of its own accord.
That was the last thing Mum ever did for us. Even in her absence, her love for us was perfectly clear.
A week later, a thick blanket of new snow fell.
I keep that picture of her last footsteps. Every year, on the third of January, I look at it, then at the empty garden path outside, and the pain is sharp: somewhere beneath that snow, she has left her final tracks. The ones I am still, in a way, following.
