CHRIS opened his eyes and laid still in the dimly lit hotel room, listening to his own breathing.
A song, a voice softly humming, had awoken him once again. The slight quiver was like a deep plea for something.

He got up, his thoughts troubled, wondering about the sad voice he had been hearing since he arrived back home, a voice to which he felt a strong connection.
Was she trying to reach out to him?

He opened his wallet and took out a small, faded photograph, the only thing he had of her. It was the picture of a beautiful young woman, a happy smile on her face, and a confident look in her eyes. The career woman she had been, but had lost it all.
Where could she be now?

He sighed deeply, tears filling his eyes.
“What happened to you, dear mother? How did you fall from grace that ruined your career and caused you to lose your children?”
He could not remember everything about her, being the youngest of three children, just five years old when they took her away to the hospital late one night.
She never came back.

But her love kept her memory alive in her little son’s heart.
His father had explained to them that she was sick and she needed medical attention, but strangely he did not seem worried.
“What is wrong with mommy?” Chris had cried that night, all night, no one had answered him.

He remembered vaguely how his father had kept her in another room for weeks, just allowing them once in a while to stand just inside the door and look at her as she slept. Once she opened her eyes that seemed dark and sunken and stretched her arms weakly, but he had pulled them out and closed the door.

Chris in his little heart then had felt something bad had happened to his mother and one night, he had crept quietly out of bed and walked cautiously to the room. It was opened a tiny crack and he saw his father sitting by her bedside, talking to her quietly, then saw him inject something in her arm. The deep plea in her eyes had caused Chris to gasp and he ran as his father turned to see who it was and hid under his bed, trembling in fear.

At nights after she had been taken away, he would awake and search all over the house for her then one night he had opened the door and walked out onto the road in his pajamas. A neighbour coming home late from work had seen him and brought him back home.

His father had held him firmly by the shoulders and told him in a stern voice, “Your mother is not coming back, she has left you.”
“No!” he had screamed, “That’s not true!”
His little heart had grieved, not understanding how she could have left when she loved her children so much. He hardly ate his food and fell ill, but his older brother and sister, though distressed themselves, managed to deal with their mother’s absence better.

Time moved painfully one day at a time and six months later, a younger, fashionable woman came to the house and was introduced by their father as their new mother. It had shocked the children, for they had been living with hopes that their mother would return.
“What happened to mom?” Jason had asked in a serious tone.

His father had smiled a little wryly and answered, “I’ll explain later.”
“No!” Chris screamed adamantly, “I want my mommy!”
But as children, they couldn’t change their father’s decision and it brought a change in their lives — not for the better.

The new mother was reluctant to give them the love and comfort they needed. She had a vibrant social life and had stated uncaringly, “I did not sign up to mother three children.”
No answers were given for their mother’s prolonged absence until almost a year later, when the children were told that their mother had been confined to the asylum because she had lost her mind.

“How did that happen?” Jason and Alana had asked.
“Drug abuse” was the shocking answer from their father.
It had shattered the little boy’s hopes to see her again and once more, he fell ill. All seemed lost when the family migrated to America, to a new life, new home, not a picture nor mention of the mother, to remember her by.

Chris had grown up not having a good relationship with this father and at 22, he had become mature and brave enough to ask him a few questions.
“Was my mother really a drug addict?”
“Why do you care?” he had responded with disinterest.
“It’s the past, it’s gone.”

“She’s my mother,” Chris has answered firmly, “I have to care.”
The more Chris reflected on it and the more he remembered the needle in his father’s hand that night, his mind stayed with the belief something bad had happened to his mother. Jason and Alana were busy with their lives and showed no real interest to find out the truth.

“It’s been a long time,” Alana had said, “What can you find now?”
“I don’t know but I am going back home to search,” Chris had said with determination.
The answers would be there he knew, because someone had to know something.
To be continued…