Holding on to the memories

The text messages. The pictures. The videos. Everything has a painful link to my history. Especially that last voice message she sent to me.

I'm on my way honey. I'll be there in no time.

My impatience killed her, apparently. I counted the number of times I called my mother after the police handed me her phone. And the funny thing is, she never missed any of my calls. She kept driving and she kept talking until...the worst happened. 

And now when I look back, time has seemed to unwind like a string and I am there, still holding on to that one spot: 21st of December, the night my mother died.

For heaven's sake, move on! 

These words would often come at me. Mostly from my father. It was quite clear he had left the past where it was, considering the fact he married her colleague a few months back. And he seems very happy about it. 

My stepmother, whom he refers to as my 'new mom' is quite a woman: nice and sympathetic. But that doesn't make up for the hollowness deep inside me. I lost the person who'd brought me to this world and nobody like her exists anymore. The thought stabs me.

A part of her is there with me, though. That too, in her memories.

And that's what keeps me from moving on...because I want to live with what's left of her. And that's all in the past,not in the present...unfortunately.