Epitaph
Rating: PG, Drabble
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site Checkmate (http://helsinkibaby.ahkay.net) , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.
Notes: For the CSReports LiveJournal Memories challenge
It never ceases to amaze me that when someone dies, the inevitable reaction from others is to share stories about that person with members of the family. As if we need reminders of the one who's gone from us, as if we never really knew them.
I swear, if I hear one more story about my mother from one of her well-meaning friends, I might just scream; either that, or burst out crying.
I know who my mother was.
She told me herself about who she was and where she'd come from; about the drugs and the dancing and meeting my father, about getting her degree at nights, raising me by day. She told me, and I have my own memories of my life as a child; of sleeping nights in my aunt's house when Mom had to work, of refusing a birthday party because I wanted to spend time with her on my own instead. I remember watching her at work with the rest of the CSIs, remember how they always got me presents on my birthday, how they made a fuss over me when I came to the lab.
That doesn't mean I need them telling me stories about my mom, about what kind of CSI she was, how brave, how selfless. I don't need their memories of that, because I have my own.
When I think of my mother, when I tell my own kids about her, I won't tell them about what she did for a living, about how hard she worked to get to where she was. I won't tell them about the long hours she worked, and the nights she spent apart from me. I won't tell them about the fights with my dad, about the school play when I was nine.
When I think of my mother, I'll think of a woman who took a call from a frightened nine year old girl, who left her job without a second thought to go looking for her daughter when she realised that she was in danger. I'll remember sitting terrified in that car, the water rising, the rain beating down against the glass, and I'll remember seeing my mother coming for me. I'll remember her telling me that everything would be all right, remember her diving down underneath the water, breaking the window with a tyre iron and pulling me to safety. I'll remember her holding me in her arms when we broke the surface of the water, and I'll remember thinking that my mother would never let anything happen to me, that she'd go to any lengths to save me.
I'll remember a woman who loved me very much, who I loved in return. And I'll tell my kids that story and I won't scream, and I won't cry.
I'll smile.