Yesterday was Mother’s Day … Those that know me know that it is not the easiest of days for me to manage, but I have something I do on that day, every year, that gives me some comfort inside … Perhaps that’s something we all need in our lives …
There is a hallway in the Palace of the Realm which seems out of sorts with everything else that surrounds it. It isn’t what it looks like; there is really no difference in the tapestry, the decorations, with everything that would surround someone when they walked through that particular space on the way to wherever they might be off to. And yet there is a difference.
Someone passing along would notice that there is a large opening to the side that displays what appeared to be a balcony open to the elements outside. In the centre of that space one would clearly see a wrought iron bench, large enough for two, possibly three people. It would be clear that anyone who takes a seat on that spot would be overlooking the rolling hills that cascade towards the Lake of Fire and, if one is there in the morning, the first rays of dawn caressing that spot moments after the sun rises over the horizon.
At least one could if not for a red twisted rope bannister that blocks the way, with a small sign hanging from the middle where the rope is pulled down by gravity, a sign which reads ‘Comfort’.
If one happens to be passing down this hallway on a specific morning, well before dawn, one finds Tera sitting there, the bannister down and carefully curled up. In spite of seeing her there, even someone looking for her would just keep walking along, leaving Tera undisturbed.
She sits there, holding a small mug with writing on it, though the words are obscured by both of her hands. Her eyes are closed, her head nodding—just slightly—on occasion, as if she is listening to someone. But no one appears to be there. She speaks softly, sometimes with a smile, sometimes as she wipes tears from her eyes.
But no one would see any of this because no one is ever there. Yet someone is.
It would be only at the very instant of the first dawn, when the light of the day first appears and pushes at the darkness, urging it aside because it was time for night to give way. In that moment, in only that moment, on this particular day, Tera turns to look to her right.
Ethereally—faintly at first—a pair of sky blue eyes appears, looking back at her. Then an achingly familiar smile shimmers into view. Blond—so very blonde—curls, cascading so much like Tera’s own raven ones, would be next, framing a face that Tera has known from the moment she was born.
Tera always reaches out one hand and tries to touch the cheek of the one who is forming, but then pauses. She is so close and yet she waits. She has to wait, no matter how much she doesn’t want to.
Her white gossamer robes would come into focus next, the ones that Tera held onto with one hand when she was a child. Those memories make Tera both smile and cry as they come in a flood. Two little red horns, almost exactly like Tera’s own, pop into life as a pair of white angel wings flutter open, one of them draping over and yet not quite touching Tera.
A slender hand appears from under the visitor’s robes and hovers just above Tera’s thigh, the moment now almost there. The last and most important thing is the long, red, heart-tipped tail that peeks out from under the robes and moves towards and then twines around Tera’s own tail twice, but again, not touching, instead hovering just out of reach.
Tera then closes her eyes and begins to lean in towards her guest, hoping, wishing, that this time, just this once, they would touch, that she could rest her head upon her mother’s shoulder and be allowed that small comfort, in that one moment to physically feel and not just know in her soul that her mother loves her.
That moment always comes as the flash of dawn on the horizon explodes into a shower of light that envelopes the Realm, warming it, bringing the promise of a new day to all.
As the moment passes, Tera remains there, alone on the bench, looking out across the lands. She takes one last sip from her mug and then places it on the bench before standing up and turning from the view. Anyone there would see her place the bannister across the balcony, check to see that all is as it should be, and then turn away, a small smile on her face, a glow in her soul, and a swisch in her tail as she leaves.
But that mug is left behind. No one is able to read the words on it from the hallway, but, from the other side, whence it matters, the words are clear to see:
There is comfort in knowing you are loved.