Flash Fiction: Unremembered

The prompt for this week from Carrot Ranch is unremembered. Not sure where the darkness came from but I went with it.

 I was nine when my mother was diagnosed with cancer, eleven when she died.  My memories of being ten are ragged, filled with holes.

I remember crying. Hospital visits. Coming home to an empty house, devoid of the smells of baking and lemon Pledge.  The panicky feeling as I opened the door, what if this was the day she died and I just didn’t know it yet?

Surely people were kind to me during this difficult time? But no acts of kindness remain in my memory.  I can’t remember anyone but my mother and myself during that horrific year.

4 thoughts on “Flash Fiction: Unremembered

  1. Such a ragged year, the one you describe with holes, and how memory focused on you and your mother. What a sad loss, Tracey. But brave that you gave your story wings to explore that difficult, and in a way, unending, time.

    Liked by 2 people

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