I called out through the window, Mum, what are you doing out so early? Youll catch cold! She turned, tipping her shovel in greeting. Just doing this for you lazybones. But the next day, Mum was gone.
Even now, I still cant walk past our old garden gate without feeling my heart twist as if an invisible hand gripped it tight. Every time I see that pathway, Im pulled back to that moment. It was me who took that photo on the second of January I was only passing by, happened to spot her footprints in the snow, and paused. I snapped a picture, not knowing why. Now, its all that remains of those days.
Wed seen in the New Year just as always, the whole family crammed together in the house. Mum had been up since the crack of dawn on New Years Eve. I woke up to the smell of frying beef patties and her voice floating from the kitchen.
Come on, love, time to get up! Help me finish these salads, otherwise your dad will nibble away all the bits before were even halfway done!
I wandered in, still wearing my pyjamas, hair looking a fright. She was stood at the cooker in her favourite apronthe one with peachesthat Id bought for her at school. She was beaming, cheeks flushed from the oven.
Mum, at least let me have my tea first, I groaned.
Tea later! First, chop those veg nice and small, just how I like itnot those great lumps you did last time! she laughed, tossing me a bowl of roasted carrots and potatoes.
We chopped and chatted about everything. She told stories of her own childhood New Yearsno fancy salads, only tinned herring in coats and the odd orange her father brought from work when hed struck lucky.
Dad appeared next with the Christmas tree. What a tree! It nearly bent the ceiling.
Well, ladies, what do you think of this beauty? he called out, puffed-up and proud.
Blimey, Dad, did you bring half the forest home? I gasped.
Mum came to inspect, hands on hips. Its lovely, but honestly, where are we meant to put it? Last years was half the size, she sighed, but helped decorate anyway. My little sister Maisie and I strung the fairy lights, while Mum unwrapped our old glass baubleskeepsakes from when I was a child. She picked out the tiny glass angel, her voice quiet.
I bought you this for your very first Christmas, remember?
I do, Mum, I lied, though I didnt. But I nodded, and she looked so delighted that I pretended for her sake.
My brother turned up by evening, as rowdy as everbags stuffed with presents, crackers, and a bottle or two.
Mum, Ive even got posh champagne this time! None of last years cheap stuff.
She laughed, hugging him. Oh, lets try not to end up under the table, shall we?
At midnight, we all trundled into the back garden. Dad and my brother let off fireworks; Maisie shrieked with delight. Mum stood next to me, hugging me by the shoulders.
Look, love, how wonderful life is she whispered.
I hugged her back. Were the luckiest, Mum.
We passed the champagne bottle around, giggling when a rocket shot off towards the neighbours shed. Mum, tipsy, danced in her slippers to Oh Christmas Tree, and Dad swooped her up, both of them howling with laughter. We all joined in until our sides hurt.
On New Years Day, we loafed aboutMum bustling away in the kitchen, making dumplings and jellied broth.
Mum, were turning into puddings already! I moaned.
Oh hush, youll manage! Its New Yearyoure meant to feast all week! she replied, waving the ladle.
The next morning, on the second, she was up early as usual. I heard the front door bang, peered from the windowshe was outside, shovel in hand, clearing a path. In her old quilted coat, a scarf knotted under her chin, she worked carefully, scraping a straight, narrow trail from the gate to the steps, piling snow by the wall as she always liked to do.
I shouted out, Mum, what are you doing up so early? Youll catch your death!
She turned, giving me a wave. Otherwise you lot would tramp about in the snow until spring! Put the kettle on, go on.
I smiled and headed to the kitchen. She came in half an hour later, cheeks glowing, eyes shining.
All done, nice and tidy now, she said, settling down with a cup of tea. Looks good, doesnt it?
It does, Mum. Thank you.
That was the last time her voice was so alive.
On the third, she woke up quietly, saying, Girls, Ive got a little pain in my chest. Not much, just a bit odd.
Panic fluttered in me. Mum, lets call the GP, shall we?
Oh, dont fuss, love. Im just tired from all the dashing about. Let me have a rest and Ill be fine.
She lay down on the sofa, Maisie and I right beside her. Dad had popped out to the chemist. She even managed a joke: You two look at me as though Im about to pop my clogs. Ill outlive the lot of you.
Suddenly her face blanched. She clutched her chest.
Oh I dont feel well I really dont
We called the ambulance. I held her hand, whispering, Hold on, Mummy, theyll be here soon, youll be alright
She looked back at me, voice barely a breath, Love I do love you all Im not ready to say goodbye.
The paramedics arrived swiftly, but it was no use. A massive heart attack. Everything changed in an instant.
I sat on the cold tiles in the hallway, sobbingunable to believe it. Only yesterday shed been dancing under fireworks, laughing, and now
Barely able to stand, I wandered outside. It was hardly snowing. There, clear as anything, were her footprintsthe small, careful, even prints that always marked her path from the gate to the front door and back. Just as shed always made.
I stared at them, a long, long time. I asked God, How can it be? Yesterday, she walked here, leaving her mark, and now shes gone? Her footprints remain, but she does not.
Maybe it was just a feeling, maybe notbut it was as though on the second of January, shed gone out one last time, just to leave us a clear path. So we could walk it, even without her.
I didnt let anyone sweep them away. I asked everyone, pleaselet them stay, until the snow itself hid them forever.
That was Mums last act of care for us. Even gone, her kindness shone through.
A week later, heavy snow fell, covering everything.
I still keep that photo of Mums final footprints. Every year on the third of January, I look at it, and then at the blank, snowy path by the house. It aches to know that somewhere beneath it, she left her last gentle trace.
The path I keep walking, still following in her steps.
