The cool, quiet dawn was finally giving way to a clear orange-coloured sky that would welcome the sun. Justina sat on a plastic chair by the window, watching the street wake up. She had been sitting there since before dawn.
Sleep eluded her for days after the funeral. And whether people were ready or not, life continued. But she couldn't bring herself to continue as her daughter encouraged.
The TV murmured behind her but her gaze was fixed on her late husband's coat still hung over the couch exactly where he left it three weeks ago. She still spoke to it, imagining Paul wearing it and sitting there, smiling at her.
Her daughter, Helen, called every morning from Abuja and their conversation was always the same. “Mama, have you eaten?” “Have you gone outside?” “Please stretch your legs and exercise. Life must go on.”
Justina shook her head, wondering how her own child could be the one advising her to “move on” when she didn't feel ready. How was she supposed to keep living after losing the man she had grown up with?
Her phone buzzed and she looked at the screen. It was a text from Helen. Mama, please open the parcel before noon.
Frowning, Justina slowly rose up, groaning as her joints cracked in protest. She shuffled to the door and found a small box there, most likely left by dispatch. She opened it and inside were bright yellow sneakers with matching hair ties and a handwritten note.
Mama, you once told me grief is like deep water. You survive by swimming through it even when tired or you drown. So…time to get vertical. I love you.
Justina sat down hard and cried properly for the first time since Paul died. Her body shook and she let it all out. After a while, she wiped her eyes, looked at the yellow sneakers and hair ties and laughed.
She stood carefully, picked his coat and began to fold it.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "time to get vertical".
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