Fragments of Light

The sun filtered timidly through the curtains when I opened my eyes. The clock on my nightstand read 7:30 a.m., but I felt as if I had slept for entire days and, at the same time, not enough. My body was heavy, as if carrying a backpack full of stones, but there was something else: a strange sense of relief that I couldn't quite explain.

Yesterday, after reading my mother's letter, I broke down in front of Lindsay and Olivia. For the first time in years, I let the pain flow without restrictions, without fear of being judged or seen as weak. And though I still felt that weight in my chest, there was also a sense of liberation. Knowing that I wasn't alone… it meant more than I could express.

I got up slowly, trying to ignore the echo of my mother's words in my mind. Each sentence seemed burned into my memory: "You have such a big heart…" , "Accept your father…" , "I will always be with you…" . I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, but it was useless. The emotions were still there, latent, waiting for the right moment to explode again.

I decided to go for a walk. Maybe the fresh air of the campus would help me sort out my thoughts. I put on a hoodie and left the room quietly. As I walked, I felt as if the shadows of my own thoughts were following me, whispering things I didn't want to hear. How could I move forward knowing that my mother had faced her illness alone? How could I forgive myself for not being there for her?

My steps unconsciously led me toward the campus lake, one of my favorite places to think. I sat on a bench by the water, watching fallen leaves float on the surface. It was then that I remembered another part of the letter, the one that had impacted me the most: "Accept your father. Beneath that cold and strict mask is a good person."

My father. He had always been a distant figure, someone whose presence filled a room but never my heart. For years, I blamed him for everything: for not being present, for not understanding me, for not being like my mother. But now, with her words resonating in my mind, I began to wonder if I really knew him. Or had I just been projecting my own pain onto him?

The idea of talking to him terrified me. I didn't know what to say or how to start. But something inside me knew I had to try. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon. I made a mental note: Talk to Dad. Understand him.

When I returned to the dorm, Lindsay intercepted me in the hallway. She was leaning against the wall, holding two cups of coffee in her hands. She looked at me with a mix of concern and warmth.

"Hey," she said softly. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, though I knew it wasn't entirely true.

"Yes, just… needed some fresh air."

She smiled understandingly.

"You look like you could use something stronger than fresh air. Coffee?"

I took the cup she offered and followed her to a secluded table near the window in the campus café. The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable; it was comforting.

After a few minutes, I broke the silence.

"I don't know how to do this, Linds. How to move forward knowing that she… that she knew she didn't have much time left."

Lindsay looked at me intently, her eyes full of empathy.

"You don't have to know everything all at once. Just breathe. You're here, and that's already enough."

Her words hit me in a way I didn't expect. She was right. I didn't have to have all the answers immediately. I could allow myself to feel, to make mistakes, and to learn little by little.

I told her more details about the letter, including the revelation about my mother's cancer and her plea for reconciliation with my father. Lindsay listened attentively, without interrupting, and when I finished, she simply said:

"Your mother loved you so much, Sack. And I think she knew you're stronger than you think."

Later, while reviewing some notes in my room, I heard an insistent knock on the door. Before I could respond, Olivia burst in, holding a paper bag and a notebook.

"I need your urgent opinion!" she announced dramatically, flopping down on my bed. "I've decided to write an essay about… well, it doesn't matter what. The important thing is that you have to help me."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help smiling.

"What's going on, Olivia? Do you really need my help, or are you just looking for an excuse to distract me?"

She pretended to be offended, but then smiled tenderly.

"Both, obviously. Now, come with me. I have an impromptu picnic on the grass."

Without giving me time to protest, she dragged me out of the room. We sat under a nearby tree, surrounded by cookies and bottles of water. Olivia started telling absurd stories about her neighbors at Stanford, including one about a bird that tried to eat a giant cookie.

"Did you know that the other day I saw a bird trying to eat a cookie on the grass? It was ridiculous. I think it was confused because the cookie was bigger than it."

I chuckled weakly, surprised that something so simple could make me smile.

"And what happened?"

"It gave up after five minutes. But, you know what? It came back the next day. Persistent, like you."

Olivia always knew how to find joy in the little things, and though the weight of the letter was still there, these moments reminded me that life kept moving forward. That even in the midst of pain, there was room for laughter and connection.

That night, after everyone went to sleep, I sat at my desk with the notebook Lindsay had given me. I opened it and began to write, letting the words flow without overthinking.

"Dear Mom,

Thank you for your words. I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself for not being there when you needed me most, but I want you to know that I'm trying to be better. For you, for me, for everyone who loves me. And though I miss you so much it hurts, I also know that you'll always be with me. In every step I take, in every laugh I share. Thank you for teaching me that even in the darkness, there are fragments of light."

As I closed the notebook, I felt a small spark of hope. I knew the pain would never completely disappear, but I also knew I didn't have to face it alone. I had Lindsay, Olivia, and maybe someday, my father.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe.