Entry for AlphaShadowWolf1
Prompt: Forgotten and Gone

Unforgotten

We walk. For what feels like hours. Not the fun kind of walking. The serious kind. The kind that's quick, and the kind where there's no time to look at scenery. It's the kind when everyone's crying. The kind when you hear leaves crunch under brisk, saddened feet. The kind that you wish you'll never have to do again. And then devastation hits, and there you are. On the walk of loss again.

* * *

Today, I am back at school. Saturday was the service and yesterday was the burial. Now, I am hopelessly conjugating French verbs.
I want to ask Ms. Gella if I can skip school today, but she wouldn't understand. No one understands. Because my mother, was everything I had left.
I lost my father to cancer a year ago, when I was ten. Both my grandparents are gone. All of my six aunts and two uncles live far away. So, now I am living with my honorary aunt. It's what my mother and father wanted. So it's what I want. They had even talked to Auntie Jade about it. It seems as if they knew their deaths were right around the corner. Of course, Auntie Jade was Mom's best friend as a kid, and they had stayed in close contact their whole lives. When Auntie Jade had married Uncle Castor, Mom had been her maid of honour. When Mom married Dad, Auntie Jade had been the same, and Uncle Castor had been my father's best man.
It was a close knit relationship. Mom had helped Auntie Jade mourn when Uncle Castor died. He had gotten in between two colliding cars, and the impact had killed him.
Auntie Jade understands me. Better than anyone currently alive. She understood Mom. She understood my dad. She is almost like my second mother. She is not the kind of person who tries to make me friends, or start me on things I don't want to start. She just accepts me the way I am. That makes me feel good. I don't think she minds when I am sarcastic or annoying. Because really, as I have said, she understands.

* * *

Biking.
It had always been Mom's thing.
She would go on long rides, and sometimes I'd join her. We would cycle, cycle, cycle, until our legs felt achy and we were tired. Then, we would sit on the back porch and massage each other. "Loosening," as she called it. Eventually, we'd just lay in the sun, heat radiating off of us, as we sipped lime-lemon water. She would always get up first.
Until one day she didn't. We were only five minutes into our ride. She had fallen off of her bike. A new route. An unexpected speed bump. A death. She had been talking about her new tires, when we had both hit the speed bump. She had been just a foot in front of me. I had seen it too late. I slowed down and stopped safely. She wasn't so lucky. She jumped high, and for a moment I thought she would fly away, and soar through the air forever. But there is that moment that happens in every life. The moment where you feel as if the world has paused. That moment a tingle of goosebumps creep up your spine. The moment of zero gravity. And then... the world comes crashing down, harder that it had ever been. Harder. Harder. And then too hard. So hard you break. Skull shattering. Stone cracking.
She did a complete aerial flip, before crashing back into reality.
I was ready to find a phone and call an ambulance, but she insisted she was fine. We ditched our bikes, and she limped back home, arm pressed heavily against my shoulder. When we arrived back home, I grabbed some cold lime-lemon water, and we sat. I put a cold cloth over Mom's head. With quick spurts of rubbing alcohol, and then antibiotic cream, and bandages, all her injuries were addressed. Or so I thought.
I did most of the massaging that day. And we sat, soaking up sunlight, until the sun disappeared. Mom still hadn't moved since she laid down. I got up, and grabbed her hand... her cold hand.
Running inside, I tried to regain composure. I planned to dial 9-1-1 and explain what happened calmly.
   I tried. I really did. If not for the wonderful operator on the other end, help wouldn't've come. The operator asked calmly, and told me to explain with deep breaths, and lots of wiping of tears. The ambulance had come, and the paramedics had taken a look at her. Immediately we rushed to the hospital.
   The next few minutes flashed before me. Rushing to the ambulance. The short ride. Rushing out again. Chasing after Mom. Auntie Jade arriving.
   I sat, clutching Mom's hand tight. I tried not to watch as there came a flurry of tubes and needles. The hospital room was cold. The seat was metal. Auntie Jade sat beside me. Mom stayed completely still through it all. Eventually the doctors went out of the room to talk in hushed tones. Finally, they took Auntie Jade out, and talked with her. I continued to squeeze Mom's hand, loving how her chest now rose and fell, even if I could see the machine making it work. When Auntie Jade finally came back in, she was looking extremely grim. Keeping herself and me amazingly calm, she explained mother's condition.

* * *

I'm expected to pop back up. Like a dandelion. I get mowed down by sadness, but will always regrow. Maybe I could heal after the death of my cat, or goldfish, but I will never be the same after that day. The day Auntie Jade told me my Mom was never coming back.

* * *

She wiped away tears, then explained that when my mom hit her head, she had shattered her skull, and damaged her brain. She had something called brain death. Something that no one ever recovers from. I had broken out in sobs, so loud, I didn't even hear the paramedics coming in, and comforting me. Telling me I did the right thing. I didn't hear them telling me how well I bandaged her up. How good of a kid I was. All I could feel was Auntie Jade giving me a stuffed animal, and laying me down in a bed. I felt no sleep. Outside the door to this room, I heard murmurs of a X-rays, but I didn't care. I just laid and wept quietly.
The next morning, a woman had knocked on my door. After hearing a soft, "Come in," from me, she entered. She had dark brown skin, and bright blue eyes. Her hair was dark, and wavy, falling over her shoulders beautifully. Her voice was fragile and soft, like ripples on a silky smooth pond. She explained everything that had happened to my Mom, from the moment she had touched that ground to this very moment. She told me the approximate time she had lost consciousness, and when she had stopped thinking and living. She told me abut why my mom was able to walk after the fall, and how she had experienced bleeding in her brain. The woman explained everything. And this didn't make it better. No, nothing would make it better. But it did have impact.
After talking about my mom, she explained about organ donation. She told me how many people had malfunctioning organs. How many people were dying. All because their organs had problems. She told me how many people were going through what I was.
And then she told me that my mother had previously given consent, to give her healthy, working organs to someone in need. Though the woman didn't have to even tell me, she had decided to explain it all. This warmed my heart. And these organs could keep that person alive for many more years. Even though I was losing my mom, she was still a hero. And she would live on, helping someone survive. And though this didn't stop the pain and grief, it did dull it. Because my mom would never really be gone, she would never be forgotten.
We would sit. On the porch. Drinking our lime-lemon water. Talking about life. Talking about our fears. Our hopes. Our dreams. Coming back to one sunny afternoon after biking, my mom had told me her biggest fear. It was being forgotten.
Being forgotten and gone.

Thank you for reading.
I just want to say I have experienced a bit of what the girl in this story has felt (though slightly less dramatic. I am extremely fortunate to have both of my parents). One of my family members had brain death, and donated his organs. He was a distant relative, but still someone I knew. Other friends and family of mine have also suffered. I write sad stories such as these to honour people who have been affected by death. The stories don't have happy endings, but they have truthful endings. And though they are sad, I hope that they impact you, and change your views of life.
This is dedicated all of the people and families who have been affected by organ transplants, for better or for worse. And please, look into such things.
You have the power to save lives.

•••Wawawa