The Last M&M

Author’s Notes:

After reading Mr. Harrigan’s Phone by Stephen King, I wondered how wonderful it would be if we could stay connected with someone we love and left this world. Therefore, I wrote this short story.

PART I – The Park That Day

A little boy sped across the smooth park path, his yellow bicycle glowing under the soft sunset. His mother jogged behind him, waving. “Don’t go too far, Bobby!”

Bobby laughed just as the front wheel collided with a tree root. As the ground rounded before Bobby, his plump body cut through the air. And then - a hard thud.  His knees burst open with red, scraping against gravel as shards of stone clung to his skin. The air was sliced with the sounds of his wails.

The sobs grew louder, his chest inflating and deflating, his whole body trembling.

His mother ran to him and pulled him into her arms, but to no avail, clothes wet with tears. “It’s okay Bobby! I’m here.” Bobby’s wails kept fluctuating through the air. His mother patted Bobby, as she opened her bag.

A packet of colourful M&Ms came out. Through tear-glossed eyes, he looked up. The small, round candy melted on his tongue, dissolving and with it, his sobs. A smile spread across his tear-stained face. He stuffed his cheeks with M&Ms, rainbow colours painted across his face.

… I can still feel the wind of that day blowing on my face…

PART II – Coming Home

While the soft fuzz beneath my nose begins to grow, the ticking grandfather clock continues to tell the tale of stillness inside the house.

“I’m home, Mum.” I whisper as I open the door. I drop my bag and walk up the spiral staircase. It used to be a staircase of joy, now a staircase of dread. The sound of my footsteps echoes upstairs, as I open the door to my mother’s room. I pass my mother’s shawl still hanging on the rack, untouched.

My mother’s favourite book still sits on the white dressing table with a tri-fold mirror: a hardcover copy of William Blake’s Songs of Innocence. Left open to her favourite page, I realise it’s the one that she had always read to me: ‘A Cradle Song’.

Next to it is a small, unopened bag of M&Ms and a single sheet of paper, creased along the half. Picking them up with gentle fingers, I slip them into my pocket.

My mother’s last letter.

PART III – Where the Wind Waits 

As I return to the gates of the park, the sun is dipping, turning the surroundings into gold. Walking over to a towering tree, I stroke the tree with the back of my hand, my eyes searching the ground. The tree root that had caught my bike is still there. I sit on a bench, the bag of M&Ms in my hand, as I reach into my pocket and withdraw my mother’s letter. Opening it, the sunlight spills onto the paper, making her letter shimmer.

My sweet Bobby,

If you're reading this, it means I'm no longer with you in the way we once shared this world. But my darling boy, please listen with your heart: I have not vanished.

I am still here - in quieter ways, in gentler places. When you laugh, know I’m there in the echo, dancing on the breeze. When tears fall, I’ll be in every drop. And when you rise, strong and shining, I’ll be watching with endless pride - my beautiful boy becoming more than I ever dreamed.

I live in your every heartbeat. I breathe within your memories. I am stitched into your soul, and nothing - not time, not distance, not even death - can ever take me from you.

So when the days feel cold and the nights too long, close your eyes and listen. I’ll be there, in the stillness, guiding you with the same love that cradled you from your first breath. Keep going, my love. You are never walking alone.

Always remember that I’m still inside you. I’m always alive. So don’t feel alone: always take another step forward. I’ll be right behind you as a guiding light. I love you so much, Bobby.

Forever yours,

Mum

PART IV – Epilogue 

As I tuck the last M&M in my mouth, I can almost feel the sweetness and sorrow melt together. Smiling, I close my eyes, feeling her arms, like the wind, brush past.

She is here.