Everyone loved Gaia. She was a compassionate friend and a benevolent family member to all. But to you, she was your everything. Your mother. The light you’d search for when you were a young child when there were monsters under your bed or the tender hands that cleaned your wounds when you scraped your knees.

She was the one constant in your life. But that all fell apart overnight when Gaia was rushed to the hospital, an unknown illness having awoken in her body. You didn’t leave the side of her hospital bed. Not even once the mechanical drone of the hospital monitors turned to one, undisturbed beep.

Your father was barely able to get you into the car back home. You felt disconnected as you came back to your house, your mother’s belongings still scattered around each room. You had to force yourself to leave your post on the living room couch, hoping foolishly she would return to you. You hadn’t realized you’d wound up in bed until you were. Dissociation.

Sitting in your bed, you longed for the comfort of your mother. The second the tears started, they wouldn’t stop. Each sob reminding you of the irreplaceable loss and the permanence of death. Memories flooded your mind—her laughter, her gentle touch, the way she always knew how to make everything better.

A sudden light flooding your room made you lift your head from the tear stained pillow, and your heart stopped beating. Your mother was leaning over your bed, smiling down at you with that tender smile you missed so dearly. A translucent hand reached out to brush over your face. Even in death, your mother still emitted warmth.

“Don’t cry, my love,” Gaia whispered, her hand continuing to caress your cheek, despite her being unable to truly hold you. “I haven’t left you. I’m still here for you. I’ll always be watching over you.”