The Warmth of Closure

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Estelle was again alone in her home, huddled up in blankets and a warm mug of hot chocolate in her hands. Another endless night of heartache, a reminder just in hand’s reach, of the night she lost her only son. After he had passed, there was no one left for her. No one to love her, no one to care for her. No one for her to love.

It had been three years since it happened, three years since Estelle had lost the one person who mattered to her. Even now, she couldn’t bear to take down the photos of him cluttered around the house, or his belongings that have been left untouched and are now covered in a thick layer of dust. 

The walls were lined with memories from so long ago, times filled with happiness, excitement, grief, nostalgia, tears, smiles, laughs. They were the only things that stopped Estelle from going insane, going crazy with being alone all the time. She knew it must be unhealthy, to keep everything and refuse to move on, but she couldn’t help herself.

A knock sounded on Estelle’s door, hard and sturdy that reminded her of her son’s. No, she must’ve been mistaken. No one ever knocked on her door, let alone at this time at night. Estelle pushed the thought aside, deciding it must’ve been the noises in the heavy rain.

But a few moments later, she heard it again— a knock, coming from her door. Frowning, she got up to answer.

“Coming, I’m coming,” she mumbled mindlessly to the unknown person. But who was on the other side of the door made her drop the half-empty mug in her hands, shattering onto the tile floor.

For a long while, she stood in silence. It was impossible, she thought. She was about to turn around and close the door, but the man before her gave a slight cough, stopping her short. There was absolutely no way it could be real, it happened 3 years ago…

“Aspen?” she croaked. I’m dreaming, she assured herself. I didn’t take my medication this morning, and now this is what happens.

The man smiled, relieved to be acknowledged. “Yes, mum. It’s me.”

Estelle couldn’t believe it. All these years of mourning, and now her son is on her doorstep, wearing the crooked grin she so dearly missed. But–

“No, you’re not real,” she spoke aloud, looking down at her now-shaking hands. At this point, she was almost sure she was hyperventilating. “I’m dreaming, I’m imagining it, it’s all finally gotten to me–”

“Mum.” Aspen interrupted. “I’m here. It’s really me.” He offered another small smile.

Estelle looked up from her hands, a tear rolling down her face.

“Aspen,” she whispered again, calming down from the sight of her beloved son. She shuffled from the doorway, ushering him in. “Come in, come in.”

Aspen complied, and it was only then that she realised he wasn’t wet at all, despite the heavy snow that now coated the roads outside. Not to mention, he was slightly pale. They sat on the cozy couches in the living room, silent for a while and just taking in the feeling of being together again. 

Then, Aspen cleared his throat. “How are you, Mum?” he asked cautiously. He knew, of course, that she wasn’t doing well. The loss took a toll on her, and she hadn’t recovered since. It devastated him everyday, that he couldn’t do anything about it. But today, he thought he would visit her—just this once. It couldn’t hurt, right?

Estelle exhaled at the question, but returned, “I’m doing better.” They both knew this wasn’t true, but Aspen settled for that answer anyway.

“That’s good.”

“What– What about you?” she asked, changing the topic.

He thought about it for a while. He wasn’t exactly well, but he wasn’t bad either. The After was calm, an everlasting white space that you could never see the end of. And he never got bored either. It was a weird thing, being dead but feeling alive. But that was his life now, or rather, what’s left of his life. 

“I’m doing okay,” he finally spoke, looking up to his mother. “Things aren’t really what they used to be, and I don’t think I’d ever get used to it, but, I think I’ll do okay.” His voice cracked mid-way through the sentence, and that’s what broke the wall of unease.

Estelle stood, looking towards the pictures hung on the walls. “Do you remember when we went to the theme park the summer you turned fourteen?”

Aspen laughed. “And I wore that ridiculous suit because you said that it was a surprise and to dress well? You know I’ll never forget how you embarrassed me in front of everyone.”

“I always thought you looked so grown up in that suit,” Estelle grinned along with him, reminiscing all the good times they used to have.

She never wanted this to end.

“Or how about that time we drove all the way to the airport, got through security, and then you realised you forgot your medicine?” Aspen continued, adding to the line of memories. “I tried to be mad at you, but I really couldn’t.”

For the first time in a long time, Estelle’s heart warmed, her eyes twinkling with the spark that had long been gone. “And I’ll never forget the funny little button you grew attached to when you were younger. You never really got over that.”

“Oh yes, the red one, right? I always felt a special connection to it, as if it connected you and me.”

You see, their bond was closer than any other, Aspen and Estelle. They only had each other in their time together, relying on the other when in need. They were both alone in this cruel world, yet they were never truly lonely. They always had each other. 

That is, until the accident.

Everything was coming back to her now, like a waterfall of memories, cascading over rocky cliffs. She could feel her eyes watering, her throat closing up as emotions flooded out and caught up to her.

“Aspen,” murmured Estelle. It was as if he already knew what she was going to say, and Aspen’s smile faded slightly. “Stay. Stay with me, we could go back to—”

“Mum.” Aspen interrupted, gently taking her hands in his. “You know I can’t.”

Estelle deflated against her son. She knew, but she never wanted to let go. “Why not?” she whispered, looking down at their interlocked hands. It was odd, how she could feel him, feel his warmth, but he wasn’t exactly there.

“You know why.” He got up. “I… I really should go.”

It took Estelle a moment to utter another word, knowing that when she did, she would have to let go. 

“Okay.”

And that was when they had their final hug, shared their final smiles, and let go of each other. It wasn’t just their letting go of hands, it was letting go of their past life. Letting go of the little bond they had left, the memories and times spent together. Letting go of each other, forever.

And just like that, Aspen had left, his presence still in the room with Estelle. She sat down on the couch, not trusting herself on her own two feet. The past few moments had been a blur, unbelievable to her. It was then that she realised there was something in her hands. The small, funny-looking, red button they were talking about earlier. Aspen must’ve put it in her hands when they were saying goodbye. It was such a small thing, but it made her smile, just the slightest bit.

There had been many nights that made her think of him, that made her think of the night it all happened. But this time, the button in her hand left a feeling of warmth inside. This time, she would fall asleep knowing that her son would be okay, that she would be okay.

Maybe this time, she can finally accept closure.

With the small, red button.