It is to momentarily sit sipping a cup of instant coffee in a back yard that used to be mine, staring at the untended plants over which I no longer can lavish my usual gardener's tender care.
To see an oversized trampoline, which I'll never see in use by children screaming in glee.
To replenish a fish tank for my very dearest to enjoy, though they must never know it was I who cleaned the filters, treated the water and fed the fish and yamato shrimps.
To exchange politely in Mascareigne Creole French over coffee with somebody who does not speak English. No matter what, she will always be the mother I no longer have.
To see that life went on in that house without me, without batting an eyelid, offering to repair in polite requests, as though it didn't belong to me anymore.
To see that she and I became strangers, business partners with two unfinished pieces of business between us.
To have to leave what was my home like a thief, for my little ones must never know I was there.
To sit in the sun, and let it bathe me, in relative peace to write this.
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