"The other night, dear
As I lay sleeping,
I dreamt I held you
in my arms..."

We all have our own fears. Each of us might be scared of the most bizarre things like ghosts, the supernatural, or something really normal like insects. Whatever it is, it does not change the fact that it can kill the happiness from within us and leave us to be a complete mess.

Remember when I barged into your room in the middle of the night? You were crying hysterically because of a nightmare. You said that your dog became a zombie then chased you, and I could not help but laugh. You got so mad you told your father about it. He reprimanded me in front of you but we both knew he was trying his best not to laugh, too.

Do you remember what he said?

"The only monsters you should be afraid of are those you don't know."

It would have made a great motto in life. However, your father failed to realize that there were a million things in this world that we never knew. And to be afraid of something we haven't known yet was plain disastrous. But I lived with it. For years.

Though maybe if I didn't, if I got afraid of the unknown, I would have been lying beside you on your bed. Telling you stories that you loved. Singing your favourite songs. We could be doing a lot of things right now, but I was the only one here. Day 98 and I was crouched beside your small bed, arms wrapped around me as tears after tears escaped my eyes.

"...But when I awoke, dear,
I was mistaken
so I hung my head
and I cried..."

It was one of those nights when I could distinctly hear your voice over the radio. "Mom!" you called. A giggle was hinted on your voice. Like how you always sounded when we played hide-and-seek.

As soon as I heard your shout of my name, I bolted into your room. My hands were shaky, my feet toppled over each other, and I almost hit the door face first. With the rush of excitement over me, I opened the door.

I didn't see you on your bed nor under it, so I tiptoed towards the closet. With a chuckle of my own, I pulled it open. I didn't know what to expect. It was the same closet you've been using for years. The same colour-coded garments, the pink hangers, and the toy boxes behind all of it. It was identical to how it had always been

But as I fell down on my knees, my heart realized that you weren't there. And for the 129th day, I cried again.

"...You are my sunshine,
my only sunshine.
You make me happy
when skies are grey..."

Arms weaved around me and I was awoken. When I opened my eyes, sunlight seeped through your pink curtain and a smile automatically found its way to my lips. I hugged your arms on my waist and pulled you closer.

But then your father spoke. I didn't want to look back. I didn't want to prove myself wrong. I was afraid of the unknown.

Though, he was allowed to do as he willed. When he turned me around, I felt a bucket of ice spilt on me. Grey eyes instead of your familiar brown orbs met mine. My gut clenched in defeat and the waterworks started.

I didn't know what was happening anymore. Apparently, our own mind could betray us. It could do whatever it wants while you were imprisoned helplessly inside the cage of your own head. I wailed and screamed and found myself questioning Him.

Why did it have to happen? Why you? Have I sinned so much that God personally hated me? That He felt compelled to make me repent on my mistakes? I didn't know. I guess I would never know, and that fact alone made me sob harder.

Then three hours after that, I found myself being cradled by your dad.

"...You'll never know dear,
how much I love you
Please don't take
my sunshine away..."

It was 3:45 in the morning of Day 172. I was in a deep slumber, or so I thought. It was another moment where my memory proved how much I should hate it.

White walls painted the pink room. The frames of pictures and drawings that hung were replaced by a sad bare wall. All of which were familiar to my dazed state. With shaking hands, I willed myself to stand up. There was a noise inside my head which I recognized as the beeping of your heart monitor.

I automatically turned to the bed, my own heart dropping as doctors piled in your hospital room. Your father pulled me to the side as the hospital staff tried their best to revive you. I could clearly see the flat line on the monitor and I wanted to scream.

That was when I doubted everything that I believed in. Why you? I've been a good person, and so have you. Even your father was outstanding at being a nice man. People loved us. We went to church every Sunday, we prayed before meals and before going to bed. We never used His name in vain, we donated to charities, we were good neighbours.

Why did cancer decide to make you its home? Why did it find your body warm enough to cradle you in its arm to fight off the cold? Why not me? Why was it supposed to be you, my sweet fragile child?

I remembered my own momma telling me that if I prayed just hard enough, God would give me what I want. I did. I've prayed for more times than I could remember. I begged and begged but all my efforts were not seen.

You were still there. Slowly losing your breath in your own deathbed.

I've watched as the light in your eyes went out. I've lost a big part of me that I could never get back. I cried so hard that I was on my knees. I kept my eyes closed, hoping that the image of you lying lifeless and helpless, would leave my mind.

The second I opened my eyes, I found myself on your bedroom floor. And I wept until your father came to try and scare my demons out of the room.

My memory was a cruel enemy that would haunt me even if I were already at my lowest. It hit me when I least expected it, and it would continue killing the best parts of me until I become a shadow of the person I used to be.

"...I'll always love you
And make you happy,
And nothing else
could come between..."

Day 223. I've been cooped up in our house for almost eight months and your father decided that it was enough moping. He coaxed me to go out with him for a late breakfast. He held my tear-stained face as he spoke slowly, telling me about all of his plans for that day. I wasn't even sure if I understood anything that came out of his lips though I found myself nodding.

He carried me to the bathroom, the tub filled with hot water. He undressed me excruciatingly slowly and carefully. I could feel his anxiety at the tips of his fingers, his pain at his ragged breath, as he peeled my clothes off of me. I was stark naked but it didn't matter. I've never felt fully clothed the moment you left anyway.

I didn't feel anything even as he put me down. I was supposed to feel something, right? But why was it that the water, his hands, and even the touch of the bar of soap felt like ghosts kissing my tainted skin? It left a cold trail that disappeared the moment you realize it was there.

He wrapped me in a fluffy towel that tickled my side. I would have been laughing by now, but all I could hear were your giggles. I closed my eyes tightly as I clutched the fabric, willing myself to stay where I was. On the bed your father and I shared. In our sky blue room. On our two-story house in our quiet neighbourhood.

It worked. After months, it finally worked. I was back where I should be.

When I looked at your father, he had a small smile at the end of his lips as if finally feeling the rain after a year of drought. It was an ironic metaphor, but as his eyes welled up with tears, I realized that it was perfect. I realized that he had been hurting, too, but was too busy with taking care of the mess that I was.

I hugged him closer, lending my shoulder for his turn to cry. I could feel his sharp intakes of breath, his warm tears, his calloused hands, the invisible scars that bled throughout the whole ordeal and were only healing now. Finally, we were moving on.

"...But if you leave me,
to allow another;
You'll have shattered
all of my dreams."

I would never forget the scream that your father let out on the night of the 365th day after your passing. He must have been so scared. His wits must be dwindling down as he watched me swim on my own pool of blood, a shard of a broken wine glass was laid aside.

He was so afraid, I knew for sure. He was wailing while he called the emergency hotline. His words tumbled over themselves, and he himself fell down on his feet. When he sat down beside me, I could feel his hand lifting my arm. A cloth was softly wrapped on my wound and I winced even if my mind was fuzzy.

A few tears escaped my eyes as your father rambled. He was blaming himself for what happened. I wanted to stop him. To tell him that depression was a cheater. It would stay far away from you when you were looking but loomed at you as soon as you weren't watching. Anxiety was a fire that kept getting bigger as thoughts after thoughts ran you down like a truck aimed to kill a person. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him to stop crying because he couldn't have known. He couldn't have seen it. Though I think his words rang in his head. That if he had just been afraid of the unknown, he would have prevented it.

It wasn't your fault, I would have said. But his voice was a lullaby even in hysterics.

I'm sorry, I would have said. Though my lips were sealed. The only words it would want to speak of was your name.

I love you, I would have said; if it wasn't the doubt that crept on my toes to my neck, blocking my throat.

I would have said a thousand words if it wasn't for you, at the end of the tunnel of my memories. Waving at me. Smiling. If I have known that this was the only way that I would be able to see you again, I would have done it the moment you closed your eyes. With a smile of my own, I ran towards you. Towards the answered prayer that God gave me.

After all this time, we could do everything that you wanted. We could fulfil the dreams you've talked to me about a hundred times. Over and over again. I had never been so happy after you left, until now.

With a skip on my breath, I stood in front of you and my hand reached out to yours.