Everything seemed normal

Gepubliceerd op 28 juli 2025 om 13:48

I'm sitting in the big easy chair. The chair I always sit in. When my mother comes home, she says goodbye and puts away the groceries. She calls from the kitchen that we're having spaghetti and meatballs for dinner tonight. Spaghetti and meatballs are my favorite food. I hear the kettle on. My mother always puts it on, and then we have a cup of tea together before the rest of us come home. My family consists of my mother, father, brother, younger sister, and me.

My father works a lot, and we really only see him on weekends.

That's because he wants to give us a good life, my mother always says. My mother works part-time in a gift shop on the canal. I think she enjoys that. My brother, younger sisters, and I are all in school. My brother is studying to be an construction engineering at a university, and I'm for studying animal care. My younger sister is still in primary school.

We all have our own lives, really. My brother plays basketball, and when he's not practicing, you can find him playing drums in a band. I play hockey and draw a lot, and my younger sister takes ballet. It's pretty busy for my mom. My dad tries to help out on weekends, but he's often tired too.

We used to go away for weekends often. My parents even had a little house in the middle of the woods. I remember loving it there. I was always climbing trees and looking for beautiful leaves, chestnuts, acorns, just about anything. My brother was always building treehouses.
In the summer, we always went swimming in a lake near the house. Unfortunately, my parents had to sell the house because their busy lives meant they no longer had time to go there.

 

My mother makes me a cup of tea and asks if I'm feeling any better. I've been very tired lately, and my parents think I have mononucleosis. My mother called the doctor, and he's coming tomorrow. She tells me about her day, and I tell her I slept a lot and watched TV. Being sick at home doesn't really get me going. So I'm glad everyone's home; at least then I can listen to their stories.
 
When my dad gets home from work around 7 o'clock, my brother has already left for practice. My mom and sister are at ballet. So I have some quality time with my dad. He dishes up his food and comes over to sit with me, and we chat about all sorts of things. After dinner, my dad turns on the TV, and we watch "De Wereld Draait Door" together. I don't think much of it, but I snuggle up to my dad, and that's a thousand times more important to me than the TV.
 

Around 19:30, my sister and mother arrive home. My sister jumps enthusiastically on the couch next to my father. I manage to escape just in time. My father gives her a big hug, and my mother gives him a kiss. "Will you make sure Lisa takes a shower and goes to bed?" My father gets up and picks up my sister, placing her over his shoulder. Lisa roars with laughter. He used to do that to me, too. I turn onto my side, pull the covers up a bit, and fall asleep. When my brother comes in, it's already late. My father gives him a hug, and my brother gives my mother a kiss. "How did practice go today?" "Yeah, it went well. We have a good shot at the championship," my brother says proudly. He's the captain and the best player on the team, at least I think so. "That would be amazing," my mother says, and my father interrupts. "Amazing? You probably mean magnificent." "I'm going to take a shower."

 

Meanwhile, I've crawled into bed and fallen into a deep sleep. I hear my mother say "good night" in the distance, but I don't have the energy to respond. By the time I wake up the next morning, everyone has already left. I stumble downstairs on what seems like my last bit of strength and then flop down on the couch. There's a plate waiting for me with a wrapped sandwich spread with chocolate spread on it. My mother always does that before she leaves the house. I walk to the kitchen and collapse onto the floor on the way. My legs and arms refuse to move. I feel helpless. I try to call for help, but no sound comes out. It's as if someone has turned off my voice. After lying on the floor for a while, my brain stops working, and eventually, my heart stops working as well. The doctor diagnoses me with mitochondrial myopathy. This is a muscle disease.
 
My mother found me. I can still hear her voice. Only I'm no longer there to answer. My brother build a new treehouse and named it; Sprockel 1985 - 2000. He used to call me that. I go and visit the treehouse very often.
 
I came to understand why my parents sold the house; it had nothing to do with them running out of time.
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 


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