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    Summary

    Ilya’s earliest memory of his mother might be his happiest one—or at least, it was a time when her smile still felt genuine and her eyes still lit up in joy. Before she felt the need to hide what she actually felt. Before the weight of the world seemed to drag her down and left her looking so defeated.

    Ilya’s last memory of his mother is one he’d rather forget and yet it was the one seared in the forefront of his mind. Every time he closed his eyes the image of his mother’s blank eyes stared back at him as she laid there on the bed, a bottle of pills held loosely in her limp hands.

    And all he can think about is how she looked lighter, as if the weight of the world no longer weighed her down.

    Distantly—numbly, he wishes she’s taken him with her.

    Or small snapshots of Ilya's childhood told through his memories of his mother and hockey

    Language:
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