I Shouted from the Window: “Mum, Why Are You Up So Early? You’ll Catch a Chill!” She Turned, Waved H…

I called out the window, Mum, what are you doing out this early? Youll catch your death! She turned around and waved her shovel in greeting: Doing it for you lot, you lazybones. The next day, Mum was gone.

I still can’t bring myself to walk past our old garden without feeling a lump in my throat. Every single time I glimpse that path, my heart tightens, as if someones clenching it in their fist. It was me who took that photo on the second of Januaryjust happened upon those footprints in the snow while wandering by, and stopped. Snapped a photo without knowing why. Now, its all I have left from those days.

Wed celebrated New Years the way we always didour whole family together. Mum was already up on the morning of the thirty-first. I woke to the smell of frying sausages and her voice calling from the kitchen:

Up you get, love! Help me finish the salads, will you? Otherwise your father will scoff the lot before we even notice!

Still in my pyjamas and hair in a state, I came downstairs. There she was at the hob in that peach-patterned apron Id got her years ago when I was still at school. She smiled and her cheeks were flushed from the ovens warmth.

Mum, let me have my coffee first, please, I grumbled.

Coffee later! Chop the veg first! she laughed, tossing me a bowl of roasted bits. Cut it up nice and fine, not in giant chunks the way you did last time.

We chatted away while we prepped, talking about anything and everything. Shed reminisce about New Years when she was a girlback then, no fancy salads, just a fish pie and a sack of satsumas her dad would bring home from work.

Dad showed up, dragging in a Christmas tree that just missed scraping the ceiling. “Come on then, ladies, what dyou think of this beauty? he called out, chest puffed up.

Blimey, Dad, did you chop down half the woods? I gasped.

Mum came to see, shrugged: “It’s lovely, but where are we going to put it? Last years was at least manageable!”

Still, she helped decorate willingly. My sister Lily and I strung up the fairy lights, while Mum fetched those old ornaments wed had for years. I remember her lifting the little glass angel and saying quietly, Bought this for your very first Christmas, you know. Remember?

Yes, Mum, I do, I lied, but I nodded because it made her happy to think I did remember that tiny angel.

My brother turned up later with his usual hullabaloocarrier bags, gifts, couple of bottles under his arm.

Mum, bought proper fizz this year! Not that cheap plonk from last time.

Oh, just dont let everyone get carried away, Mum joked, hugging him tight.

At midnight, we filed into the garden. Dad and my brother set off fireworks, Lily shrieked in delight, and Mum stood by my side, wrapping me in a bear hug.

“Look at that, darling,” she whispered. “Aren’t we lucky? Lifes pretty grand…”

I hugged her back, Its the best, Mum.

We drank champagne, straight from the bottle, roaring with laughter when a rocket shot off towards next doors shed. Mum, a bit tipsy, danced in her slippers to Rockin Around the Christmas Tree, and Dad swept her up, spinning her round. We all howled until our eyes watered.

New Years Day was spent sprawled about. Mum was back at it in the kitchendumplings and leftover cold cuts this time.

Mum, give it a resthonestly, cant squeeze in another thing, I complained.

You willNew Years is a week-long affair! she said, waving me off.

On the second of January, she was up early as ever. I heard the door bang, glanced out the windowthere she was, shovel in hand, clearing the path. In her battered old puffa and a headscarf tied tight, working precisely from the gate to the front steps, sweeping the snow up against the house as she liked to do.

I shouted, Mum, why so early? Its freezing!

She turned and called back, Otherwise you lotll be wading through snowdrifts ’til Easter! Put the kettle on!

I grinned and went to the kitchen. She came in half an hour later, cheeks glowing, eyes shining.

“All done now,” she said, sitting down with her coffee. “Looks tidy, doesnt it?

Perfect, Mum. Thanks.

That was the last time Id hear her voice so full of life.

On the morning of the third, she woke and spoke in a faint voice, Girls, my chest feels odd. Not sharp, just a strange ache.

Worry crept in immediately: Mum, shall we call the ambulance?

Oh dont be daft, love. Just worn myself out with all that cooking and running round. A rest will do me good.

She lay down on the sofa, Lily and I hovering beside her. Dad popped out for medicine. She even cracked a joke: Dont look so grim, will you? Ill outlast the lot of you.

And then her face went pale. Her hand shot to her chest. Oh… I don’t feel well Not well at all…”

We called emergency straight away. I held her hand, whispering, Stay with me, Mum, pleaseits going to be alright…” She looked up at me, her words barely a breath:

Love you so much… I dont want to say goodbye.

Paramedics came quickly, but… it was already too late. A massive heart attack. It all happened in minutes.

I sat on the hallway floor howling with shock and disbelief. Just yesterday, shed been laughing beneath the fireworks, and now…

Barely able to stand, I stumbled outside. The snow had hardly fallen. I saw her footprintssmall, neat, exactly as she made themfrom the gate to the front door and back. The same prints she always left.

I stood, staring for ages, asking God: “How can someone walk this world, leave their mark, and then, suddenly, vanish? The footprints remain. But she doesnt.”

Maybe, or maybe not, it seemed as though she went out that last time on the secondjust to leave us a clear path. So we could pass after her, even if she wasnt there to walk it with us.

I couldnt let anyone cover those prints. Asked everyone, “Please, let them be. At least until the snow takes them for good.”

That was the last thing Mum did for us. Her care lingered, even when shed gone.

A week later, the garden was buried beneath fresh snow.

I keep that photo I tookher last steps. Every year, on the third of January, I look at it, then look at the empty path outside. It hurts beyond words to know, somewhere underneath, shes left her last footprints. And somehow, Im still following in them.