My Golden Light Eliza

She left us. The fire in her eyes burned no more. I knew it was coming – we all did. The warmth she had given our family faded; the crisp crackling of her final voice was now a distant echo in the raging blizzard outside.

“No, she’ll be fine,” our father had told us, over and over. Repeating the lies made them almost believable, but in time I had learnt his words were to sway his aching heart into a belief of an outcome which was unlikely. My own beliefs – my own wishes – were extinguished as soon as she had taken her last breath. I didn’t know what to believe in anymore. Frost bid my mind a welcome, and I couldn’t stop it.

My mother was gone.

*

The logs in the fireplace were dry and cold. I laid on the sofa, dreaming with eyes unseeing. Whatever my mind wanted to show, it would never reach me.

Empty and drained. I knew what I was, but there was no power in my body to do anything about it. Where had my father gone? He had mentioned returning in the evening, but that may have been words conjured by my grieving brain. My brother was here, somewhere. The two of us in an empty house - a freezing home.

My fingers moved when I told them. My legs stretched when I made them. But my mind didn’t respond when I beckoned. My brother must have been torn apart worse than myself. He’s younger, more fragile. I’m older, more resilient. Yet, here I was. Decaying, inside and out.

It took me a while, but I heard whimpering from the adjacent room. My brother’s room. After a few lethargic movements, I rolled off the sofa. With a slap and pull, my cheeks bent up. It took several blinks, but my eyes returned and saw the house I had lived in for fifteen years.

“Rowan.” I didn’t knock. It didn’t matter.

Rowan stifled his crying. “What?” He wiped his nose and eyes, covering the past with futile, bubbling effort.

“Mum told you to smile for her,” I said. “Remember? Like this.”

“I know.” He hiccupped. “I’m trying.”

His crying resumed. I grabbed a tissue and put to his face. “Blow,” I told him.

His nose emptied. Rowan had always wiped his snot on his sleeves. Only when Mum had crammed tissues into his face had he finally stopped. But I’ll allow him to revert if that helped his heart, if that found him any form of peace.

The curtains were open, but the light had faded. I flicked the switch.

Darkness remained.

“Dad said he’d fix it,” Rowan sniffed.

“Come into the lounge,” I told him. “We’ll sit on the sofa.” We hadn’t done that together since he was a baby and when I could dream of things I could see.

I lit the fire and turned on the lamp. Rowan was in his bed clothes. I wasn’t sure if he had taken them off since this morning. My hair was loose and tangled; a mess, but I didn’t care. I was in my hoodie and joggers while doubling up on the socks. No matter how much I bundled, it was never enough.

For Rowan, I grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around the both of us. He had stopped crying, his water levels running low after yesterday and today. Eight-years-old was far too young, and I didn’t know what to do settle his pain. I couldn’t do anything for him. I’m supposed to be responsible! So much for being a good big sister.

Mum... Why did you leave us? My eyes stung, but I couldn’t cry. If I started, Rowan would follow with whatever tears he was holding back. I had to be strong. I had to burn bright. I had to be what was lost to us.

Rowan leaned into me, and I into him. The moonlight perforated our lonely house, the burning logs offering little defence to keep it out.

We sat there in silence, in each other’s comfort, for a while. It was only until the door opened, letting in a blistering breeze with clumps of settled snow, did two become three. Dad stepped inside. In his arms, rustling like hamsters, were wrapped gifts in shining purple wrapping paper. His face had tears, but his smile was real.

“Eliza, Rowa- Oh, is he asleep?” His voice hushed into a whisper.

I hadn’t noticed, but Rowan slept while leaning against my shoulder. I relaxed, softening what may have been taught bones. If I could be a pillow, then I’d be the best one possible.

Dad placed the presents on the coffee table and brushed Rowan’s fringe with calloused fingers.

“How much did he cry?” he asked.

“All day,” I answered, though I couldn't be certain.

Dad nodded, understanding the pain of a house he hadn’t been in.

“Where were you?” I bit my lip. It came out in a bitter whisper, one I regretted. My Dad had always been sweet to me, never raising his voice, always encouraging. I wasn’t the daughter a father like that deserved.

“Your mother left the both of you presents for tomorrow.” He tapped the pile. “She had them at your grandmother’s. I went to pick them up and... sort out a few arrangements.” His eyes drifted.

I didn’t reply, the fear of any regretful words spilling out stopping me. I nodded. Funeral, burial, Mum. It made sense. It had to. He wouldn’t leave us, too.

“There’s one gift I think you should open now,” he said.

“I don’t want to disturb Rowan,” I whispered.

“Don’t worry. It’s in a little box. The lid should slide right off.” He held the mauve rectangle, it’s velvet lining soft and soothing. “Your mother didn’t want to ruin Christmas. She tried to hold on – I know she tried. But she was a planner. She planned for an eventuality where she might not be here. We will mourn her. We will miss her. But we’ll always love her. And she’ll always love us.”

He passed me the box. My hand slipped from under the blanket, the other following while trying to keep Rowan balanced and covered.

Lifting the lid, the metal inside jingled. It wasn’t a bell, but the ring of a single piece of metal was enough to bring a warmth into my heart and battle the frigid beating.

Inside held a locket of smooth gold. Underneath rested a black cushion and a sheet of folded paper. Placing the box on my knees, I read the paper, doing my best to keep quiet.

“To my sweet, precious, amazing, wonderful daughter–” Mum had always embellished. She had always built me up bigger than I was. “–Your smile is the most perfect thing in my life. You treat others like gold, and yourself like silver. I know how strong you are, but I want you to love yourself as much as your father and I do. Be the gold. Glimmer. Dazzle. Shine. I will love you always, my golden light.”

My hands trembled on the paper and box. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t control them. I tried. I tried. I kept trying.

Dad leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. “You can stop holding it in, Eliza,” he said. You’ve been strong long enough.”

My body wheezed, punctured with something sharp inside. My vision blurred the fire, the locket, the house, and everything became one ball of translucent confusion. My eyes closed, but that did not stop the tears.

My mother was still here. Her fire still burnt, and it was ever so warm.