I Shouted From the Window: “Mum, Why Are You Up So Early? You’ll Catch Cold!” — She Turned, Waved Her Shovel in Greeting: “I’m Doing This For You Lot, You Lazybones.” — And The Next Day My Mum Was Gone… Even Now, I Can’t Walk Past Our Old Garden Without Heartache… Every Time I See That Path, My Heart Clenches As If Someone’s Gripping It. It Was On The Second Of January I Took That Photo… I Was Just Passing By, Noticed The Footprints In The Snow — And Stopped. Snapped A Picture, Not Really Knowing Why. Now, That Photo Is All I’ve Got Left From Those Days… We Celebrated New Year’s As Always, All Together As A Family. Mum Was Up Early On The 31st, As Usual. The Smell Of Frying Burgers And Her Voice In The Kitchen Woke Me Up: “Love, Get Up! Help Me Finish The Salads, Or Your Dad Will Scoff Half The Ingredients Again!” I Came Down In My Pyjamas, Hair All Over The Place. She Was By The Cooker In Her Favourite Apron With Peaches — The One I Gave Her In School. Her Cheeks Were Rosy From The Oven And She Was Smiling. “Mum, Let Me At Least Have Coffee First,” I Moaned. “Coffee Later! First, The Salad!” She Laughed, Tossing Me A Bowl Of Roast Veg. “Chop It Fine Like I Like — Not Fist-Sized Chunks Like Last Time.” We Chopped And Chatted About Everything Under The Sun. She Told Me About New Year’s In Her Childhood — No Fancy Salads, Only A Herring Under Its Coat And The Tangerines Her Dad Brought Home Especially. Soon Dad Brought In The Christmas Tree — Huge, Nearly To The Ceiling. “Ladies, Come Admire The Tree!” He Announced Proudly. “Dad, Did You Chop Down The Whole Forest?” I Gasped. Mum Walked In, Threw Her Hands Up: “It’s Lovely, But Where Will We Put It? Last Time Was Smaller.” Still, She Helped Us Decorate. My Sister Lera And I Hung Up The Lights, Mum Dug Out The Old Decorations From My Childhood. I Remember Her Picking Out The Little Glass Angel. She Whispered, “I Bought This For Your First New Year, Remember?” “I Do, Mum,” I Lied. I Didn’t, Not Really, But I Nodded. She Glowed Because I Remembered That Angel… My Brother Arrived Later, As Usual — Laden With Bags, Gifts, And Bottles. “Mum, Got Proper Champagne This Year! Not That Sour Stuff From Last Time.” “Oh, Love, Just Don’t Let Everyone Get Plastered,” Mum Laughed, Hugging Him. At Midnight, We All Went Outside. Dad And My Brother Set Off Fireworks, Lera Squealed With Joy — And Mum Stood Beside Me, Arm Around My Shoulders. “Look, Love, Isn’t It Beautiful?” She Whispered. “What A Wonderful Life We Have…” I Hugged Her Back. “The Best One, Mum.” We Drank Champagne Round The Bottle, Laughed When A Firework Whizzed Towards The Neighbour’s Shed. Mum, A Little Tipsy, Danced In Her Woolly Boots To “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree,” And Dad Swept Her Off Her Feet. We Laughed Ourselves To Tears. On The First Of January, We Lounged All Day. Mum Cooked Again — This Time Dumplings And Jellied Meat. “Mum, Stop Already! We’re Going To Burst!” I Moaned. “Nonsense, You’ll Finish It — New Year Celebrations Last A Week,” She Brushed Me Off. On The Second, She Was Up Early Again. I Heard The Door, Peeked Out — There She Was In The Garden With Her Shovel. Clearing The Path. Old Puffy Jacket, Scarf Tied, Working Carefully: From The Gate Right Up To The Steps — Narrow, Straight. Piling Snow Beside The Wall Like She Always Did. I Called Out The Window: “Mum, Why So Early? You’ll Freeze Out There!” She Turned Back, Waved Her Shovel: “Otherwise You Lazy Lot Will Walk Through Snowdrifts All Spring! Go On, Put The Kettle On.” I Smiled, Went To The Kitchen. She Came In Half An Hour Later, Cheeks Rosy, Eyes Bright. “All Done, Nice And Tidy,” She Said, Sitting With Her Coffee. “Came Out Well, Didn’t It?” “Yes, Mum. Thank You.” That Was The Last Time I Heard Her Sound So Full Of Life. On January Third, She Woke And Whispered, “Girls, My Chest Feels Odd. Not Bad, Just Uncomfortable.” I Got Worried At Once. “Mum, Shall We Call An Ambulance?” “Oh, Don’t Fret, Love. I’m Just Worn Out. Cooked And Dashed About So Much. I’ll Rest, It’ll Pass.” She Lay Down, Lera And I At Her Side. Dad Went To The Chemist For Some Pills. She Even Joked, “Don’t Look So Gloomy, I’ll Outlive The Lot Of You.” Then She Turned Pale. Clutched Her Chest. “Oh… I feel awful… Too Awful…” We Called An Ambulance. I Held Her Hand, Whispered, “Mummy, Hold On, They’re Coming, It’ll Be Fine…” She Looked At Me, Barely Audible, “Love… I adore you all… I hate to say goodbye.” The Paramedics Came Quickly, But… There Was Nothing They Could Do. A Massive Heart Attack. It All Happened In Minutes. I Sat On The Hall Floor And Howled. I Couldn’t Believe It. Just Yesterday She Danced Beneath The Fireworks, Full Of Life — Now… Barely Steady, I Went Out To The Garden. The Snow Hardly Falling Anymore. And I Saw Her Footprints. Those Same Small, Neat, Straight Prints From The Gate To The Steps And Back Again. Exactly Like She Always Left. I Stood And Stared At Them For Ages. I Asked God, “How Can It Be That Yesterday A Person Walked Here — And Today, They’re Gone? The Footprints Remain, But She Doesn’t.” Maybe I Was Dreaming, But It Seemed Like On The Second Of January She Went Out For The Last Time — To Leave Us A Clear Path. So We Could Cross It Without Her. I Didn’t Let Anyone Shovel Those Prints Away, Asked Them All To Leave Them. Let Them Stay Until The Snow Covers Them For Good. That’s The Last Thing She Did For Us. Her Everyday Care Shone Through Even When She Was Gone. A Week Later, Heavy Snow Covered The Path. I Keep That Photo Of Mum’s Last Footprints. Every Year, On The Third Of January, I Look At It — And Then Out At The Empty Path By The House. And It Hurts To Know That Somewhere Under All That Snow, She Left Her Last Steps. The Ones I’m Still Following…

I remember that chilly January morning I leaned out the window and called, Mum, what are you doing up so early? Youll freeze! She turned and gave me a cheerful wave with her old garden shovel: Trying to keep this lot tidy for you lazybones. The next day, she was gone.

Even now, walking past our old front garden makes me wince. Every time I catch a glimpse of that path, it feels as though someone is squeezing my heart in their fist. I took a photo on the second of January, just wandering by and spotting her prints in the snow stopped in my tracks, snapped it without knowing why. Funny, thats the only thing I’ve got left from those days…

Wed had New Years Eve the way we always did all together, the entire family. Mum was up before dawn on the thirty-first, banging about in the kitchen. I woke up to the scent of sizzling sausages and her bright voice, Come on, love! Get up and help me with the salads before your dad eats half the ingredients when my backs turned! I trundled downstairs, pyjama-clad, my hair a mess. Mum was at the cooker, wearing her favourite peachy apron the one Id bought her as a teenager. She grinned, cheeks red from the oven.

Mum, please, can I have a cup of tea first? I moaned, still half asleep.

Tea after! First, the potato salad! she laughed, tossing me a bowl of roasted veg. Chop them up nice and fine, mind not those massive chunks like last time!

We chatted as we cooked, just nattering about anything and everything. She told me stories about her own childhood New Year no fancy salads, just a pork pie if they were lucky, and tangerines her dad would bring home from working late at the railway. Dad soon barged in, arms full of a massive Christmas tree, nearly knocking over the lamp.

Right, ladies, make way for Her Majesty! he bellowed proudly.

Blimey, Dad, did you chop down half the forest? I gasped. Mum shook her head, half-laughing. Its beautiful, but where exactly are we putting it? Last years was half this size! Shed roll her eyes but, of course, helped us dress the tree. My little sister, Katie, and I strung the fairy lights, while Mum dusted off the old decorations from when I was a child. She picked up a fragile glass angel and said softly, I bought this for your very first New Years. I remember, Mum, I lied.

Truth was, I didnt, but I nodded anyway. Seeing her face light up when she thought I remembered that angel made me glad.

My brother, Ben, rolled up in the afternoon as usual loud, arms loaded with bags and bottles. Mum, picked up some proper champagne this time, none of that cheap stuff from last year, he announced, proud as punch.

Oh, lets just hope no one gets carried away, Mum chuckled, giving him a big hug.

At midnight, we all made our way out to the front garden. Dad and Ben let off fireworks, Katie shrieked with delight, and Mum held me close. Look, darling absolutely beautiful, isnt it? she smiled, voice low. Arent we lucky?

I hugged her round the waist. Luckiest family there is, Mum. We passed the champagne bottle, giggling as a rocket whizzed off into Mr. Greens shed. Mum, a bit tipsy, danced in her wellies to Rockin Around the Christmas Tree, and Dad scooped her up. We laughed until we ached, the neighbours probably thinking wed lost the plot.

On New Years Day, we all lazed about, groaning fuller than Christmas turkeys, while Mum kept busy in the kitchen making beef stew and sticky toffee pudding. Mum, give it a rest, honestly! I whinged. Were all going to roll out the door at this rate. Shed just wave me off: You’ll manage its New Year, it’s meant to last a week!

Then, on the second, she was up early as always. I heard the door and peeked out there she was, shovelling the path in that tatty old parka, scarf tied under her chin, carefully clearing a neat walkway from the gate to the porch, just how she liked. She was meticulous, pushing the snow right up against the hedge, making sure we wouldnt slip.

I called down, Mum, its freezing! Youll catch your death!

She turned and beamed, waving the shovel, If I dont do it, you lazy lotll be traipsing through the snowdrifts until spring! Put the kettle on, will you?

I grinned and headed for the kitchen. Half an hour later she came in, cheeks bright and eyes sparkling. Thats sorted now, she said, dropping into her chair. Nice and tidy, just like I like it.

Thats beautiful, Mum. Thank you, I said.

It was the last time I heard her voice so full of life.

The morning of the third, she woke up and said quietly, Girls, Ive got this odd pain in my chest. Not awful, just uncomfortable.

I was instantly anxious. Mum, lets ring the doctor?

Oh, dont fuss, sweetheart. Ive just done too much, busy bee as always. Ill have a lie-down. She curled up on the sofa, Katie and I close by. Dad popped out to the chemist for something to help. She even tried to crack a grin, Dont look at me like that Ill outlive the lot of you.

Then she suddenly went pale. She grabbed at her chest.

Oh… I feel awful… really awful…

We called an ambulance straightaway. I gripped her hand and kept whispering, Hold on, Mum, helps coming, youll be fine… She met my eyes and managed to say, barely a whisper, I love you all so much… I dont want to say goodbye… The paramedics arrived quickly, but it was no use. Massive heart attack. It all happened in minutes.

I found myself on the floor in the hallway, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe. How was it possible that barely a day ago she was laughing under the fireworks and now…

When my legs steadied, I wandered outside. The snow had almost stopped. There were Mums footprints small, neat, careful. From the gate to the porch and back again, just the way she always did it.

I stood there for ages, just staring at them, asking God how on earth can someone who left their mark on the world only yesterday be gone today? The tracks are here, but shes not. I felt sure shed gone out that second of January to leave us a clear path one last bit of looking after us, so we wouldnt stumble.

I couldnt bring myself to brush away those prints. I asked everyone else not to either. Let them stay until the snow covers them for good.

That was Mums last act of love for us. Her kindness lingered even after shed left.

A week later, a heavy snow buried the garden. Ive still got that photo with Mums final footprints. Every third of January, I look at it and then at the now-empty path by the house. And it aches, knowing that somewhere under all that white, she left her last trail.

Its those footprints I keep following, all these years later.