**Diary Entry**
«Mum, you left the light on all night again!» James said irritably as he stepped into the kitchen.
«Oh, I mustve dozed off, love Was watching a show and didnt realise,» she replied with a tired smile.
«At your age, you should be resting, not spending nights in front of the telly!»
His mother said nothing, just pulled her dressing gown tighter to hide how the chill made her shiver.
James lived in the same town but rarely visitedonly «when he found the time.»
«Brought you some fruit and your blood pressure pills,» he said briskly.
«Thank you, dear. God bless you,» she murmured.
She reached to touch his cheek, but he pulled away.
«Got to dashwork meeting. Ill ring you this week.»
«Alright, love. Take care,» she whispered.
After he left, she stood by the window a long while, watching him disappear round the corner. She pressed a hand to her chest and sighed softly:
«Take care I wont be here much longer.»
The next morning, the postman dropped something into the rusted letterbox.
Margaret shuffled to the gate and pulled out an envelope labelled:
«For my son James, when Im gone.»
She sat at the table, her trembling hand beginning to write:
*»My dearest,*
*If youre reading this, I didnt get to say all I held in my heart.*
*Know thismothers never die. They hide inside their childrens hearts, so the hurt wont cut too deep.»*
She set down the pen, glancing at an old photolittle Jimmy with scraped knees.
*»Remember, love, when you fell out of that oak tree and swore youd never climb again?*
*I taught you to get back up.*
*Now I want you to risenot with your legs, but with your soul.»*
She wiped her tears, sealed the letter, and wrote on it:
*»Leave by the gate the day Im gone.»*
Three weeks later, the phone rang.
«Mr. James? This is Sister Andrews from the hospice Your mum passed last night.»
He shut his eyes in silence.
When he arrived at her house, the air smelled of lavender and stillness. Her favourite mug sat on the table; the wall clock had stopped long ago.
In the letterbox lay an envelope with his name.
His hands shook as he opened it. Her handwriting.
*»Dont cry, love. Tears wont bring back whats lost.*
*In the wardrobe, your blue jumper. I washed it so many timesit still smells of childhood.»*
James broke. Every word struck deeper than any rebuke.
*»Dont blame yourself. I knew you had your own life.*
*Mothers survive on crumbs of their childrens attention.*
*You rarely called, but every ring was a gift.*
*I dont want your grief. I want you to remember:*
*I was proud of you.»*
At the bottom:
*»When youre cold, put your hand over your heart.*
*That warmth? Its mine, still beating inside you.»*
He knelt, clutching the letter to his chest.
«Mum why didnt I visit more?»
The house answered with quiet.
He fell asleep on the floor. At dawn, sunlight crept through the faded curtains. He wandered the rooms, touching teacups, photos, her dressing gown draped over a chair.
A note on the fridge:
*»Jimmy, Ive made shepherds pie. Its in the freezer. Knew youd forget to eat.»*
He wept again.
Days passed, but peace didnt come. He went to work but his mind stayed in that house with its yellow curtains.
One Saturday, he returned. He opened a window, and birdsong rushed in.
The postman came up the path.
«Afternoon, Mr. James. My condolences.»
«Ta.»
«Your mum left another letter. Said to give it when you came back.»
He opened it. That familiar script:
*»Love,*
*If youre here, you mustve missed me.*
*This house isnt an inheritanceits a living memory.*
*Put flowers in the window. Brew a cuppa.*
*And dont keep the light just for yourselfleave it on for me. Maybe Ill see it from up here.»*
He smiled through tears.
«Mum itll stay on every night.»
He stepped into the garden, gazing at the sky. The clouds seemed to form a figure in a floral nightdress.
«You taught me how to live, Mum Now teach me how to live without you.»
Years passed. The house stayed alive.
James visited oftenwatering plants, fixing the fence, boiling the kettlealways for two.
One day, he brought his little boy.
«Your gran lived here,» he said.
«Where is she now, Dad?»
«Up there. But she hears us.»
The boy waved at the sky.
«Gran! I love you!»
James smiled, tears in his eyes.
And in the whisper of the wind, he couldve sworn he heard her reply:
*»I love you too. Both of you.»*
Because mothers dont vanish.
They live onin how you smile, how you rise after a fall, how you tell your children *»I love you.»*
A mothers love is a letter that always finds its way home. And so the house stayed warm, the light never went out, and every morning James placed two mugs on the tableone for him, one for her. The blue jumper hung by the door, and sometimes, when the wind stirred just right, it seemed to sway as if wrapped around unseen arms. Years folded into decades, but the voice in the silence never faded. When his son asked about her, James would smile and say, Shes the quiet in the room, the warmth in the tea, the hand that holds yours when you least expect it. And on quiet nights, when the world was still, hed stand at the window, light aglow behind him, and whisper, Im rising, Mum. Step by step, Im rising. And in the stillness, the light reached out like a promise, steady and soft, just as she had been. The garden bloomed wild and bright, tended by hands that remembered every story rooted in the soil. When autumn leaves fell, his son would gather them and say, Grans saying hello, and James would nod, throat tight with a love too deep for words. One evening, as he buttoned his coather favourite, the one with the frayed cuffhe felt it: a warmth against his chest, gentle and sure. He paused, hand over his heart, and smiled. I feel you, Mum, he whispered. I always will. The light in the window burned on, a quiet beacon in the gathering dark. And somewhere beyond the stars, a woman in a floral nightdress smiled, her heart whole, her boy finally home.
