COLD HANDS

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Her hands were so cold. Tears kept rolling down as I recalled the days when they were warm. I remembered how those hands used to curdle me as a boy. Now it's just a piece of flesh.

My mind flashed back to the last time I held those hands and felt the warmth. That was three years ago when I last spared time to visit. Her grey hair had increased, her skin was wrinkled and her sight had deemed. With a stammering voice she asked:

"When will I see you again?"

"Soon mama, soon" I replied

"How soon? I wouldn't be here forever" 

Those where her last words to me as I rushed away, I had work to do. But now I wished I had taken those words more seriously.

I worked in a bank and I was at the top of my game at reaching the peak of my career. Four years consecutively, I had received the award of the most dedicated and resourceful staff in my bank; I had never been so proud. But all that doesn't matter anymore. Staring at my mother and caressing her hand in this dead mortuary full of deafening silence; I wish she could just open her eyes so I could apologize for not being there for her. I sent her almost half of my monthly income and in my shallow mind I thought that could make up for my absence. 

I'm thirty-three with no wife or kids. I couldn't bring myself to maintain any stable relationship because I was always busy; work always came first. So I lost all the women that ever came into my life. And now, I've also lost the only woman that meant family to me

I sobbed as I took out my phone and began to type my resignation letter. I wish I did this years ago.

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