Mom's hands were limp across my neck.

The right words to use would be 'thrown limply', but it doesn't matter, you get the picture. I was carrying her on my back to what seemed like a recently washed over building. The street was empty and quiet, and everywhere unusually deserted, yet it had a strong feel of familiarity to it.

The sun seemed to be a big clock in the sky and it's hands kept ticking off the seconds between life and death, down to the last heartbeat. I'd been here before. Déjà vu.

"Chimdindu, I hope I'm not too heavy", she whispered hoarsely against my neck. "My strong boy, I know you're tired, but could you go a bit faster? I need to lie down."

I was tired yes; but just a little, not too tired; from carrying her frail form, and nothing would make me put her down. Not yet.

"Hold on. Please, I'm almost there, just a little bit more." I replied between breaths. I felt her weak bones on my back, and the hair on my neck bristled as she let out weak breaths. A tear escaped my eye as I spoke. "I'm here for you, I'll always be here for you." My feet slowly dragged in the sand, and I adjusted my grip, but didn't stop moving forward, the muscles in my legs were beginning to become sore and weary. I could feel her heartbeat against my back too, slowly ebbing away, faint, almost gone.

She must have sensed my sad demeanor, because she started to tell me stories about my childhood. Joyful, happy stories, as if to remind me of how full her life had been. One time, months before she had my junior brother, her car had been faulty on our way to grandma's, so she'd taken me with a taxi, and we had to walk some part of the journey. Rain started falling and she hadn't packed any umbrellas, and because the rain was unexpected, it drenched us both. According to the story, one-year-old me was in love with the water and I kept giggling as she sang to me, all the way to my worried grandma's house.

She started to hum a familiar tune, one of her songs. It was my favorite song from her album; Choices. I loved that song, and she knew I did, it was about Jonah, doves and Nineveh; I joined in and we both hummed together as we continued our journey. I stopped walking when I got to the house, I managed to open the gate with one arm and carried her all the way to a room. "Are we there?" She asked. I looked first at the windows, up at the PVC ceiling, then back at the windows. The sun was glaring outside and the shimmering heat was making it's way inside. "Yes." I said. "We're here."

I managed to lay her on the sofa in the room and then hurried to make the bed as comfortable as I could, I was done in minutes and tenderly laid her on the bed, stretching out her hands to the sides in a bid to ease her strained breathing. I sat beside her and continued humming the song, then I thought I heard her mumble something, so I bent over so I could hear her easily. "I'm sorry".

I didn't understand why she'd say so, and before I could ask what she meant, she looked up at me with clear, loving eyes and spoke. "You have to go now. Thank you. I knew you wouldn't let me die". My chest ached, it felt like I'd been struck repeatedly, with a sledgehammer.

Then Mom died again, like she's always done for the last two months. Every single morning.