MEMORY'S APPLE WHISPER

You remember the day clearly. The soft hum of the refrigerator in the background, the distant chatter of the radio filling the silence. Your mother’s hands, wrinkled and strong, working deftly through a mountain of apples. You sat across the table, peeling and slicing, the scent of fresh fruit mingling with the warmth of the kitchen. It was a ritual, one that brought a sense of comfort and continuity, like an old song played over and over, its melody woven into the fabric of your life.

Today, though, the air feels different. The kitchen, empty and still, seems larger without her presence. The apples lie in a neat pile, waiting. You pick one up, feeling its cool, smooth skin beneath your fingers, and the memories flood back. The laughter, the shared stories, the simple act of being together. It’s these moments you miss the most, the quiet, unremarkable moments that now feel so significant.

Reaching for the peeler, you start to work, your movements slow and deliberate. The rhythm is familiar, comforting. Each slice of the blade is a whisper of the past, a reminder of her presence. You can almost hear her voice, soft and encouraging, telling you to mind the edges, to be careful.

The kitchen fills with the scent of apples, rich and sweet. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply. It’s almost as if she’s there with you, her spirit lingering in the air, in the simple act of peeling an apple, in the quiet spaces between breaths.

When you open your eyes, the apples are peeled, their white flesh revealed in neat, even slices. You gather them up, placing them gently into a bowl, the last piece of the ritual complete. There’s a sense of closure in this small act, a feeling of connection to her, even in her absence.

You carry the bowl to the counter, setting it down with care. The kitchen, now filled with the scent of apples, feels a little warmer, a little less empty. You know she’s still with you, in the rhythm of your movements, in the simple acts of everyday life, in the memories that fill your heart.

And so, you continue, each day a testament to her memory, each small task a way to keep her close. The loss is still there, a quiet ache, but in these moments, you find a sense of peace, a reminder that she is never truly gone, but always a part of you.

Cassandra Byte

Celebrate the beauty of everyday life with Cassandra Byte, capturing heartfelt stories of family, friendship, and growth.