I Called Out the Window: “Mum, Why Are You Up So Early? You’ll Catch Cold!” She Turned, Waved Her Sh…

I shouted out of the window, Mum, what are you doing out there so early? Youll catch your death!
She turned, waved her old shovel at me in greeting, her breath white in the morning air. Im doing this for you lot, you lazybones.
The next day, my mother was gone.

Even now, I cant walk past our old front garden without my heart twisting, as if someones gripping it tight. Every time I glimpse that path, it hits me all over again. It was me who took that photo on the second of January
Id been walking past, saw the tiny tracks pressed into the fresh snow, and just stopped. I took a picture, not knowing why. Now, its the only thing I havea memory frozen from that winter.

We always celebrated New Years as a family.
Mum was up early on New Years Eve, as usual. I woke to the sizzle and scent of frying sausages and her voice drifting from the kitchen,
Come on, love! Give me a hand with these salads. If you dont, your dad will scoff the lot before the tables even set!
I padded down, still in my dressing gown, hair wild. She was at the stove, wrapped in her favourite apronthe peach one Id got her at school. She caught me looking and grinned, cheeks rosy from the heat.

Mum, at least let me have a cuppa first, I groaned.
Tea can wait! We need to chop the veg for the potato salad first! she laughed, tossing me a bowl loaded with roasted veg. Slice them fine, how I like. Not those whopping chunks you did last year.

We chopped and chatted about everything and nothing.
She told us how, as a girl, New Years meant tinned fruit and a queue at the green grocer, or how Grandad brought home the odd clementine, smuggled in his coat.

Then Dad arrived, struggling through the door with a pine tree big enough to fill the living room.
All right, ladiesadmire your beauty! he bellowed, pride in every step.
I stared, eyes wide. Blimey, Dad, did you chop down the whole forest?
Mum tutted, trying not to smile. It is lovely, John, but where on earth are we going to put it? Last years wasnt nearly this massive.
Still, she helped decorate. My sister Megan and I untangled strings of old fairy lights while Mum rummaged for the baublesthose battered ones I remembered from childhood. She dug out a little glass angel and whispered, This one I bought for your first New Year. Do you remember?
Of course, Mum, I lied.
She glowed, thinking I did.

My brother Ben turned up by late afternoon, a whirlwind of bags, presents, and bottles.
Mum, I got posh fizz this time! None of that cheap plonk from last year.
She laughed, hugging him tight. Just dont drink yourselves silly, she teased, ruffling his hair.

At midnight, we all bundled out into the garden. Dad and Ben set off fireworks, Megan squealing at every bang as sparks lit up the sky.
Mum wrapped an arm around me, squeezed my shoulders.
Look at that, pet. Isnt life grand
I hugged her back, whispering, Its the best, Mum.
We passed around the champagne, laughing till our cheeks hurt when a sparkler flew into next doors shed.
Mum, tipsy and happy, danced across the lawn to The Holly and the Ivy, wellies on her feet, Dad swinging her round until we all doubled up with giggles.

New Years Day, we lazed about. Mum was still cookingthis time, shed made pies and jellied meats.
Mum, stop! Were already stuffed, I groaned.
Dont fuss, theres plenty. New Years meant for feastinglasts a week, at least, she brushed me off.

The morning of the second, she was up with the dawn, like always.
I heard the back door clatter, peeked out the windowshe was clearing the path, wrapped in that battered old parka, scarf tied over her hair.
She worked quietly, neat as ever, scraping a slim, perfect walkway from gate to doorstep, tossing snow up against the walls. The way she always liked it.

I called out,
Mum! What are you doing? Youll freeze!
She turned with a grin, raised her shovel in a salute,
If I dont, you lot will be wading through snow till June! Go on, put the kettle on.
I smiled and wandered to the kitchen. Half an hour later, she came back inside, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
All neat now, she said, settling down for a cup of tea. Looks good, right?
Perfect, Mum. Thank you.
That was the last time I heard her voice sounding so strong.

On the third, just after sunrise, she woke, her voice soft.
Girls, somethings not right. Chest hurts. Not badly, but its there.
I panicked.
Mum, shall I phone the ambulance?
Oh, dont fuss, love. Im just tired from all the running about. Some rest will sort me out.
She stretched out on the sofa; Megan and I hovered, uneasy. Dad dashed to the chemist for some tablets. She tried to make us laugh,
Stop looking at me like thatits not the end, you know. Ill outlive you all.
But then, suddenly, she went pale. Clutched her chest.
Oh I dont feel good not good at all
We rang 999, I held her hand, desperate,
Mum, hang on, please, youll be all right, theyll be here soon
She gazed up at me, voice barely a whisper,
I love you all so much I dont want to go
The paramedics came fast, but There was nothing left to be done. A massive heart attack. It was all over in minutes.

I slid to the hallway floor and sobbed, unable to take it in. Just yesterday shed been dancing under the fireworks, laughingtoday, nothing.

Barely steady, I found myself in the garden. There, in the gentle snowfall, were her footprintsthe same little, tidy marks leading neat as ever from the gate to the house. Just like always.

I stood there, staring for the longest time, asking God, How can it be that yesterday this person was herewalking, leaving these marks on the worldand now shes not? Footprints are there, but shes gone.

It felt as though shed knowngone out that January morning for the last time, making sure our path was clear, so we could go on without her.

I didnt let anyone disturb those tracks. Begged everyone else to leave them. Let the snow take them in its own time.

That was Mums last gift to usher care echoing even when she was gone.
A week later heavy snow finally covered them.
I keep that photo of her last footsteps safe. Every year, on the third of January, I look at itand then out at that empty path beside our house. And my heart aches, knowing somewhere, beneath all that snow, she left us her final footprints.
And I keep following them, still.