You 're the only one who can make her laugh . [ WP ]

Most stories start at the beginning. This one does not. 
 
 `` I love you, mum,'' was all I could get through my throat—sobs getting the best of me. 
 
 I had been there, sat at that bedside many times the previous months, but this time I doubted she could hear me. She had only closed her eyes a moment earlier, but I had the dreadful suspicion it had been her last time. 
 
 How horrible it felt—still feels—knowing that whatever I was going through had to be nothing compared to what she was. Surrounded by stone faces, each hiding the urge to weep—the object of their unhidden pity. The first weeks were hard, but manageable. My uncle came by now and then to leave flowers and crack some joke about how she was too tough to let something like cancer get the best of her—that she'd kick it in the butt and sometime after laugh about it in hindsight. I liked that he said that. I'm sure dad would have done the same if he knew what had happened to her, but we have n't seen or heard from him in over a decade. Doubt that will change anytime soon. 
 
 Aunt Helen came by too at times, and brought her new pup with her to cheer up mum. It did. It's name was Big, and it was a he, and he was cute as a button. Would n't ever grow up to be bigger than your average shoe. Hence the name—her idea of a joke. Mum thought it was funny. 
 
 The months after were less manageable. Downright agonising, in fact. Helen had been offered a job in Japan that was so great she could n't refuse, and over the course of a week or two had made the transition. I was happy for her, and I'm sure mum was too. She was never selfish, no matter how dire her own predicament. She was a gem. She really was. 
 
 As for my uncle, the bouquet from his last visit was still on my mother's nightstand, though so were its petals—wilted and drained of colour. He was not offered a job far from home. She had asked for the nurses not to take away the flowers. That was his job. 
 
 The last week was excruciating. Apart from the nurses and doctors that came to check on her regularly, only I came by for visits. She had lost the stamina to speak, and aside from acknowledging my presence with the touch of hands, she'd mostly sleep. I figured it was her way of escaping the pain—both that of the cancer and that of her visits. The flowers had turned into tinder. 
 
 I could n't recall the last time I had seen my mother smile, and cried over the thought that even if she wanted to, she most likely was n't able to. I crumpled up the sleeves of my sweater and wiped my face clean of tears. The thought struck me that if she passed away right now, I would never have said my goodbyes, and right then and there i swapped the sleeves for bedsheets. I buried my face in them as I yelled into them as loud as I could. 
 
 `` It's not fair! Why does it have to be you!'' 
 
 But the anger did n't hold the sadness at bay, and yells quickly turned into sobs again. 
 
 `` You are the best mom—no the best human being I can ever imagine! Even when dad let us, you kept smiling and got right back on your feet! Or when the doctor told us the bad news, and you had asked me to come along for comfort. You smiled and asked me'who's going to do your laundry now!' And even when that basterd brother of yours left you hanging you tell the nurses to leave those twigs you call flowers there for him.'' 
 
 In that moment I felt a profound hatred towards everything and everyone, and I clutched the sheets, unwilling to lift my head from them. I wished I could die with her. 
 
 `` I love you, mum,'' was all I could get through my throat—sobs getting the best of me. 
 
 That changed when I felt the brush of her cold hand against mine. Utterly surprised I looked up at her to see if she was awake, but what I found exceeded every expectation I had by far. Looking back at me was a face decorated with loving eyes that had crow's feet from the smile beneath them. After months of surrender, here smiled at me the face of acceptance. 
 
 `` I love you too, son,'' she replied. She turned her head back towards the ceiling and closed her eyes, comfortable on her pillow. 
 
 `` Goodbye,'' was mine. I turned my head back into the sheets and whispered soft cries of farewell.
