Mourning By Sajjad Tameez



Mourning
Sajjad Tameez 

Copyright 2012 by S.Tameez
Smashwords Edition



People often ask whether one person can make a difference. The answer is: probably not, but if a difference is to be made, it will certainly start with one person.
... Are you that person?


It had been almost eight months since Richard's soul mate, Elizabeth, left for work; smiling as she closed the door, never to return. 
It was easy to believe that her spirit was freely wandering the heavens but accepting the fact that she was gone was another story. At times, Richard refused to acknowledge it; he often set the dinner table for two and still bought her favourite lasagne from the supermarket. Their bedroom was the same – the wardrobe was still full with her clothes and her perfume and makeup were scattered across the white dressing table. 
The only change was the rope dangling from the strong beams of the ceiling – Richard's escape plan. 
What was mourning anyway? Richard couldn't decide whether it was severe grief or whether it was anger and regret for the moments that you spent arguing and neglecting each other. Either way, living life backwards wasn't going to change fate.
Her glittery smile still lit up the room, even from the photo on the bedside table. Richard could still hear her heels echoing from the hard floor downstairs – it was as if she never left. It was only at night, when emptiness overwhelmed and he could no longer bear the ear-splitting silence that he would turn to the snake that hoped to lure him into the illusion of relief. Haunted by her dazzling cat-like eyes and strawberry lips, he drew closer to shaking hands with the devil. 
This particular morning was different; Richard's sleep-deprived eyes were already open when the door bell rang and like a zombie, he stumbled down the stairs. He’d already convinced himself that it would be the post – he hadn't had a guest in a long time. 
At the door, there stood a peculiar looking lady, she was bent with age and her hair mimicked the clouds above her. 
'Hello, I'm looking for Mr. King,' she spoke with a warm smile. 
'Yes...' 
'Great! My name is Martha Higgins and I used to work with Elizabeth... can I come in please?' 
Just by hearing her name, Richard felt like he had been punched in the stomach and his legs turned to jelly. 'Yes, of course, please come in.' 
Martha waddled inside carrying a brown box and placed it on the table next to her. 
'Your wife was a wonderful woman, she touched the hearts of so many people and she will never be forgotten. But you already know this.' 
Liz worked as a volunteer at an orphanage and dedicated her life to those kids – he knew that these were not just comforting words of condolence. 
'Thank you.'
'Now Richard, I know you must be finding this extremely difficult and nothing that I can say is going to change what you are feeling but I am going to say it anyway; some journeys are short and some are long and difficult but no one is burdened with more than what they can bear. Your wife was a special kind of person and there is no doubt in my mind that special people attract special people!' 
Richard gazed outside and listened to the gentle tapping of the rain against the window.
Martha struggled to her feet and let herself out just before Richard's unhealed wounds reopened and the pain surfaced again. He turned to the stairs like an addict, as if something was calling him, but paused when he noticed that Martha had left her brown box. He dashed for the door and looked around but there was no sign of her, 'that's strange, she only left a few seconds ago; she didn't come in a car and she walked at the pace of a snail.’ He closed the door and felt perplexed. He opened the box and a stream of tears gushed down his cheeks. It was full of pictures of Liz with the children of the orphanage. Every child in every picture had their eyes glued on Elizabeth; if those pictures could speak, they would tell stories about a great woman, who changed the lives of so many people. On the back of one of the pictures it had, ‘If you are able, then you are responsible!’ scribbled; Richard recognised Liz’s handwriting instantly.  
From this point, he knew that physically she was no more, yet she lived, she lived through the people that she’d touched and she lived through the difference that she’d made. 
He picked up the phone book and found the number for the orphanage.
'Hello, I was hoping that you could pass on a message to a Martha Higgins. I would just like to thank her for opening my eyes!' 
'Sorry sir, we don't have a Martha Higgins who works here.'
'But... maybe she used to work there.'
'Sir, I've been working here for ten years and we've never had a Martha.'
Richard stared into the air, silently.
'Sir... is there anything else I can help you with?' 
Yes... are you looking for any more volunteers?' 
'We are always looking for volunteers.'
'Great! Can I start now?' 
'Well... yeah, of course...'
Richard took one last glimpse at the escape plan and, suddenly, it didn't look so attractive. 

Everyone embarks on the journey, the difference is that most pass by invisibly, some leave foot prints and, occasionally, one changes the world.