So, on this Mother’s Day, a day that will always hit me in the heart with the pain of your loss as well as the gratitude of having been blessed with your presence in my life, I thank you for choosing me as your daughter. I thank you for being the best mum ever, and I will try to remind myself it is quality, not quantity, that matters.
We had more special mother-daughter moments in our sixteen years than most people will have in a whole lifetime, and while I will always wish we’d had more, I will do as you implored me and try to focus on what we had rather than what we won’t have, and to make an effort to celebrate your life rather than regretting your death.
I will love you always xx
Later that night she tiptoed downstairs to get a glass of water, and found her dad standing by the fireplace, clutching their cards in one hand and his head in the other, shoulders shaking from his sobs. The pain he was suffering radiated out from him, stabbing at her heart and leaving her feeling so helpless, and so desperately sad for him.
She still had one parent, but he had lost his dearest love, his partner in life, the other half of himself. How daunting it would be, to suddenly be left alone to cope with two children, and she was mortified by how much extra suffering she’d put him through in the aftermath of their loss.
When she woke up the next morning, sadness shrouded her as she remembered the previous year’s Mother’s Day, when she and Brodie had made breakfast in bed for their mum, then taken her out for the day, travelling a few counties over with her for a flower festival celebrating spring, then digging in the garden with her that afternoon to plant all her new herbs and other seedlings.
That evening their radiant mother had gone to Rose’s Ostara ritual, and Rhiannon had been struck by how beautiful she’d looked, and how full of life and love and vigour. It was only a couple of months before she’d discovered how sick she was, and Rhiannon could still picture so perfectly the glow of health and energy she’d exuded that day, which had made her diagnosis so shocking.
Despite the forecasted spring sunshine, this Mother’s Day dawned cold and grey, which seemed appropriate. Their dad made breakfast for the three of them, trying to pretend nothing was wrong for Brodie’s sake, but having a miserable time of it. Rose had invited them to her new moon healing ritual that night, but they’d turned down her offer, preferring to wallow on their own in their sadness, and scared they would depress everyone with their pain if they turned up. While the priestess had denied that would happen and pressed them to come, they’d thanked her profusely yet stuck to their guns.
Rhiannon wasn’t sure she would ever want to be part of a ritual again, because it reminded her too much of all she had lost. The memorial at the healing centre had been wonderful – terrifying and devastatingly sad, but wonderful – yet that hadn’t been about her. If she became part of Rose’s magical circle though it would be, and it would require a vulnerability and an opening up of herself and her heart that she wasn’t sure she could handle.
Chapter 23
Looking Forward
Rhiannon…
As her seventeenth birthday approached at the end of May, Rhiannon was relieved that it would fall in their week-long half-term holiday, and glad they were going to spend it with their grandparents in a little seaside village in Wales that they’d visited together a year ago. She couldn’t face a party, or being the centre of attention or, even worse, feeling rejected if people forgot, or didn’t want to celebrate with her.
She was relieved too when the last of her teachers announced that she was more than caught up – her extra study and optional extra credit assignments meant she was actually ahead of where she’d been academically when her mum was still alive. Her maths teacher even recommended an advanced program she could take part in over the summer holidays, and was pressuring her to sign up for it, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
She was still pondering whether or not to attend as she walked home from school on the last day of term. Bird song filled the air, and she was excitedly picking the first blackberries of the season from the wild hedgerows. They were still a little tart, and that brought back bittersweet memories – she and her mum had gone berry foraging last summer, and had returned with tongues and fingertips stained purple, and a basket of fruit they’d turned into hot pies and crumbles.
A sharp pain hit her as she reached out for another berry, and she cursed as a thorn pierced her thumb, then watched the drop of crimson blood rush to the surface. Sucking on the wound, she was too distracted to hear that someone was approaching her – until all of a sudden she glanced up and saw there was a woman standing right next to her.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she recognised the blue-clad figure she’d met up on the tor on New Year’s Eve, the one she hadn’t been sure was really there, had really existed. Was she a flesh-and-blood person, or an Otherworldly being? Goosebumps covered her arms as she felt a sudden drop in temperature, and noticed grey clouds gathering overhead, and a thick white mist closing in around them. Okay, so her money was on the latter...
“Good evening Rhiannon,” the woman said, voice terribly formal yet filled with warmth, an unexpected pairing.
Nodding hesitantly, she gazed at her cautiously, unsure what to make of the sudden appearance and the dramatic shift in weather conditions, since her own seeming effect on the air around her had eased after the new year, if it had even been her causing all those storms in the first place.
Desperately she tried to recall what they’d spoken of the last time they met. She’d been heartbroken then, inconsolable, and hardly paying the attention she should have been, but she did remember the reassurance the woman had provided, so she offered her a shy smile, before feeling guilty that she’d managed to move on from that all-consuming grief.
“Oh beloved, you have no reason at all to feel guilty,” the blue-clad figure crooned. “It is a good thing, a healthy thing, that you have been able to find a way to move forward. It does not mean you love your mother any less.”
Blushing, Rhiannon nodded in acknowledgement, yet she still felt bad. It wasn’t like you could turn off a feeling just because someone told you to. The ghost of a smile crossed her companion’s face, then she turned serious again.
“I know you are feeling lost, and wondering what to do with your life, but do not give up on yourself, and your beautiful heart, just because something seems easier right now, and appeals to you for that reason.”
Puzzled, Rhiannon stared at her, unsure of what she was talking about. There was no easy option for her to take – if there was, perhaps she would have taken it, but she didn’t know of any. Her brow crinkled in consternation.
A mirthless, impatient chuckle echoed through Rhiannon’s mind. “You have been rewarded for your new aptitude in mathematics, and told you should consider a more scientific career path,” the woman in blue explained bluntly.
“Well, it’s something to think about,” she replied, suddenly defensive. “The idea of calculations and equations and things being black and white, right or wrong, does hold a lot of appeal. It’s certainly not easy though! But I’m not sure that I have much emotion left to give to a more creative or caring field. Besides, what’s wrong with science? My aunty is a scientist, and she’s changing the world for the better.”
Wow, she hadn’t thought about her mum’s sister Jenny since the funeral, yet she’d always liked her, and admired her single-minded focus on succeeding in her field and proving her horrible mother wrong. Beth had told her a few stories about when she and her sister were growing up in that cold, emotionless household, ruled over by their cruel mother.
Patricia had been furious when she’d discovered that her oldest daughter Jenny – the supposed “good” girl – had lied to her from her very first day of university, pretending she was studying business, as “suggested” by her parents, but in fact undergoing a rigorous double major science degree, topping her year, and landing a well-respected – to all but her family – position
as the head of a research team studying renewable energy off the coast of Scotland.
Beth had been astounded by and overwhelmed with admiration for her sister, partly because of her academic achievements, and partly because she’d managed to thwart their parents. She’d grown up thinking that Jenny was doing everything their mother wanted of her, obeying her in all things – but it turned out she was just smarter than her, and realised that complaining and rebelling were pointless. To get what she wanted and pursue her own dreams, she’d flat-out lied to their mother’s face until it was a fait accompli.
As she’d recounted the story to her daughter, Beth had laughed, thinking of all the pain she could have saved herself if she’d done the same thing, rather than wasting so much time, energy and hatred on fighting pointless battles with her mother at every turn.
A further drop in temperature brought Rhiannon back to her surroundings, back to the cold and swirling mists, back to the mysterious blue-robed woman before her.
“Oh beloved, there is absolutely nothing wrong with science, and your aunt Jennifer is making incredible contributions to the protection of the earth. But it is her passion. Since she was a child she burned with curiosity about how to create things, and change things, and she loved every moment of dedicating herself to her scientific cause. At school she loved science and mathematics, at university she did electives in engineering just because it fascinated her, and extra physics and chemistry classes because she found them fun. That is how her brain works – to fulfil her heart’s desires, and her mission in life, she must use her mind in that way,” she explained.
“But you are so very different to her, more like your mother, which is wonderful. Your contribution to the world will come from your heart, not your mind. You thrive on feeling and emotion, and will feel restricted by the structure of what you are contemplating.”
Rhiannon almost laughed – she hadn’t even realised she was contemplating anything. And yet, when she thought about it, her head had been turned by the praise she was receiving in her extra maths classes, and by talk of careers in that field. Surprisingly, the woman in blue was right. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she didn’t actually enjoy the subjects, she just appreciated them for the structure they contained, and the black and white nature of the answers. The way she didn’t have to use her heart, just her mind. Would she be miserable if she pursued a career based on that?
It only took a moment of soul searching to realise that yes, she would hate it. The thought of four years at university in the cold, clinical fields of maths and science made her throat tighten, and without even being aware of it, she started moving her shoulders, trying to unclench them from the strict rigidity they’d taken on when she foresaw that path.
Sighing, she lifted her head to admit the truth, but the woman was gone again, disappeared in a cloud of mist and the sweet scent of honeysuckle. Slowly she began to walk home, feeling a little more soothed. She still had no idea what she wanted to do with her life – and the mist-wreathed woman hadn’t been very forthcoming on what she should do, only what she shouldn’t. But perhaps it was up to her to figure that out – would she really want to have her career, her life, dictated to her in the way her mum and aunt had suffered?
And she didn’t need to decide now anyway, she had another whole year at school ahead of her. But at least she knew now what she didn’t want to do, so she decided to see the school counsellor the minute they got home from Wales and change her electives back. She didn’t need to do the advanced double maths classes – just because she was capable of it, that didn’t mean it would be useful to her. There were other classes she found more interesting, which might make more sense for her still-unknown career path. Perhaps she’d do a unit on politics, or history, or geography, or something…
Either way, the strange woman was right. Life was too short to waste time on things that didn’t interest her, or wouldn’t contribute to her ultimate plans. And while she still didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up, it was a relief that she’d realised what she didn’t want to be.
* * * * *
On the morning of her birthday, Rhiannon woke up early, remembered the date and groaned, clutching the pillow over her head, and wanting to burrow down under the covers and hide away forever. With her mum gone, it was tough to celebrate anything, but there was no way she could escape it. No sooner had she moved a muscle, than Brodie leapt out of bed and flung himself at her, laughing his high-pitched laugh.
“Happy Birthday Rhi-Rhi!” he cried. “I’ve been waiting for hours for you to wake up.”
“Thanks buddy,” she said, teeth gritted but smile pasted firmly on. Of course they’d be away and sharing a bedroom on the day she most wanted to be left alone. Sighing, she made a concerted effort to feign enthusiasm as she peeled back the quilt and sat up. Her heart ached that her mum wasn’t here for this milestone, but for her brother’s sake she tried to push that out of her mind and look like she was excited.
At least they were away from the familiar, away from the memories, in this cute slate cottage in a sunny seaside village in Wales. Not that it helped much, since all she could think about was her mum’s birthday pancakes, which she used to make for them each year, and the red velvet cake they would have celebrated with at lunch time.
A clanking from the kitchen downstairs interrupted her reverie, then their father called out to them to come down for breakfast. Sighing theatrically, she dragged herself out of bed, pulled a cardigan on over her pyjamas and shepherded Brodie out of their small, narrow room.
“Happy Birthday darling,” her dad said, kissing her on the cheek as he handed her a parcel, then going back to the stove. A sizzling sound erupted as he flipped whatever was in the frying pan over, and her heart lurched as she smelled the familiar scent of cinnamon and butter. He was making her their mum’s special birthday pancakes.
“Thanks Dad,” she whispered.
“Open mine first!” Brodie shrieked, running over to the bench and picking up a messily wrapped gift. Rhiannon untied the bow, but was clearly going too slowly, because her brother leaned over and ripped the paper off for her. It was a jewellery box, strong yet delicate, wrought in silver, with ivy engraved into the lid. Inside it was velvet lined, with a large tray that pulled out, plus several compartments of various sizes. It was gorgeous. Hugging Brodie tight, and making him blush from her profuse thanks, she ran her finger over the soft interior.
Reading her dad’s card was tough – words of pride for how she was coping, words of thanks for what she was doing to help him and Brodie cope – but she managed a slightly teary smile before turning to his presents.
The first one was a journal, different to the Book of Shadows Rose had given her, but still pretty, and she figured it would be perfect for recording her thoughts and her day-to-day life. Not that it was really worth recording right now, but when she’d spoken to the school counsellor recently, he’d encouraged her to start writing down her feelings as a way to reveal them to herself, and eventually move forward. An uncharitable thought ran through her head, as she wondered if he’d mentioned the idea to her dad. Would the counsellor betray her by passing on what she’d said in their sessions?
When she opened the second gift though, her breath caught in her throat, and all thoughts of annoyance left her. Nestled in a pouch of midnight blue velvet were her mum’s engagement and wedding rings, understated yet beautiful.
Turning tear-stained eyes to her dad, she whispered her thanks, and smiled as she noticed him trying to hide his own tears. She wasn’t sure she had the courage or strength to wear these rings, which had meant so much to her mum, but it moved her deeply to have them. She’d thought her dad would want to keep them, to hold them close to his own heart, yet perhaps it was too painful for him. She opened her mouth to ask, then closed it when he quickly interrupted.
“They’re for you,” he said, taking her hand. “Your mum wanted you to have them, and for me to choose the right t
ime to pass them on to you. I don’t need them, and I can’t wear them, so it will mean more to me that you have them. And whether you choose to wear them or not, whether you want to store them in your new jewellery box or place them on a necklace, that’s totally up to you – please don’t do anything either way on my behalf.”
A key in the lock of the front door interrupted them, and her dad squeezed her shoulder and went to help his parents with the bags of groceries they’d popped out to get.
“Happy Birthday darling,” her grandma said, coming around the table to hug her, and hand over a card and a gift.
“Thank you Nan and Pop, but you didn’t have to get me anything,” she protested.
“Oooh, what is it?” Brodie asked, then fell on it and started tearing the paper off, too impatient to wait again.
Anne laughed, and swooped in to kiss her grandson on the forehead. He giggled, then noticed the cake box his grandpa was holding. Squealing, he leapt off his chair to have a peek inside, then nodded approvingly at William.
Left in peace for a moment, Rhiannon lifted out her gift – a gorgeous blue dress with matching blue topaz earrings, plus the new novel from her favourite author – and thanked her grandparents for their thoughtfulness. Then she was finally able to tuck in to the plate of maple syrup-drenched pancakes her dad placed in front of her, and savour the latte her grandma had picked up from the cafe down the road.
After a blissfully lazy morning curled up in a cosy corner reading her new book, she caught up with her family for lunch. And when her gran lit the candles on her red velvet birthday cake and they all sang Happy Birthday, she smiled with genuine pleasure, glad to be with them – even when Brodie swooped in to blow out her candles and hijack her wish.
Being with this set of grandparents reminded her to be grateful. For the last few days she’d been focused on how negative and soul destroying her other set were, and the pain Beth’s mother in particular had caused them all, and she’d forgotten just how thankful she was for Anne and William. They weren’t showy or pushy or even especially outgoing or vocal, but their calm acceptance of her, and their gentle missing of Beth, was a great comfort to her now that she was starting to come to terms with her loss. She’d definitely underestimated them and their capacity for feeling, and caring.
Into the Storm: Into the Storm Trilogy Book One Page 25
