“AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I hear the terrifying screams of my children and run after them as fast as I can. “What’s going on?” I scream, my eyes are watery with fear that something has happened to my children.
They look at me in horror and burst out laughing. “We just wanted to know who had the loudest and scariest scream!” “It’s just a game, mom. You should see what you look like.” They look at each other, laughing and clutching their bellies.
“Don’t ever do this to me again! It scared me! Who will take care of you if I have a heart attack?”
“Sorry, mom.” “You told us to play. So we played. We didn’t mean to scare you.” They look sad. I must have yelled at them too much. “Play nice. Okay?” They both say, “Okay.”
They have holidays, and I’m working from home and raising them.
Now I hear the most frightening sound a mother of hyperactive and noisy children can ever hear. It’s grave silence.
I’m yelling, “Kids! What are you doing?” No answer. “Do you want ice cream?” Silence. I run off to check on them. I run into the room, but they aren’t there. “Kids! It is not funny! Where did you hide? There will be no ice cream!”
I wander around the house looking for them in every corner, under the beds, and in the closet. I can’t find them anywhere. Despair sweeps over me. My innocent little children. Where are they?
I am crying and raging at the same time. I start throwing things around. I know they’re in the house because I can feel them. I think I feel the presence of someone else, too. Who is it?
“My babies, where are you? Come to your mommy.” I’m sobbing. The heaviness I feel in my chest is killing me and making me unable to breathe.
“Hahahahahaha.” I hear the muffled laughter of children and stomping in the hallway. I am running as fast as I can and full of hope that I will find my kids and they are okay.
I’m in the corridor, but I don’t see them anywhere. “Kids, where are you? I can hear you. Please come back to me.”
I’m raging. Are my kids making fun of me? Where does this anger come from in me? I grab the vase and throw it on the wall. Hopelessness, sadness, despair, emptiness, and anger consume me more and more.
“Mommy, please stop.” “Don’t worry about us. We’re fine.” My children tell me. I turn around, and they are standing in the hallway with frightened looks.
“Why are you hiding from me? Do you enjoy scaring me?” I ask them in a desperate whisper.
“No, Mom. You’re the one who left us.”
“Grandparents tell us you went to heaven. But we keep telling them you’re here with us, but they don’t see you.”
“They think we are making all the mess.”
“You can go to heaven now. We’re fine.”
…