Sunshine in my pockets

I sat in the tub and cried my eyes out the day I heard my sister's friend's mother died. How is that fair? Her only daughter was twelve years old. I watched her grow up just as I watched my own sister. I watched them play together, learn together, love together. The daughter was radiance bundled into human form, wrapped neatly with a rainbow ribbon. Now, that day, I kept picturing her with her all-toothed smile. When will she smile like that again?
How can a child grow up without a mother? I know many children do. But I will still wonder how she will get by. Who will she go to when she experiences her first period, or falls in love with a boy? When she will feel the loneliest, who will she call? So I spent the entirety of my school hours trying to decide on a support system for you. I made an oath to be there for you every step of the way.
And when I saw her that day on the bed crying to her aunty, I fell to the ground. When she hugged me tight, crying, I couldn't stop the tears flowing. I screamed inside. Children are too innocent to suffer death. They're too small to comprehend death. Apujee, eat. Please eat, I begged her. You need the energy to fight the battle. Not just this one, but all the battles.
Apujee, please stop crying. I can't stand seeing you like this. Her frail body curling up on the bed. How will she survive the night? This aunty, her mom's friend comforted her – “Pray to God to protect your mum the way she protected you. She's all around you, you know.” But a child needs to hug her mother, feel her warmth, to know she's really there when it's dark, when the nightmares come.
I will help you make a mother's day card. We can let it drift with the blowing wind. Here, take all the sunshine I had stored up in my pockets for rainy days. You need it till your storm passes. Lightning made its way into your life. Open your heart to let it all flow out. I'll paint a silver lining in the sky for you. But there is nothing I can say or do to make her feel better when she stares at me with hollow eyes, waiting for an answer. She always thought I had the answers. And I just want to stab pens into my veins for not being able to solve this.
As I stroke her hair, she asks me, “Anishta apu, why can't I cry anymore? Did the tears dry up?” She remembers her mother's favourite colour and burrows her head into my chest. Whimpering, panting, crying. Apujee, please stop crying. Please. I don't know why the world's like this. Things aren't fair or unfair. Things just are.

For Nazora, for being brave during thunderstorms.