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Who Am I?

The mystery of my mother's life

By Gal MuxPublished 2 years ago 9 min read
Top Story - January 2022
41
Art by author/Canva

My mother died two months ago. She was 74. 

Her last days were pure heartbreak even for me a person that had blocked all feelings for her. Alzheimer's had made her even forget her name. There were so many things I would have wanted to ask her, clear some up, get some closure or finally get to know who she really was. But life did not give me that opportunity.

I am 40 years old. And to this day I cannot tell you what my mother did for a living. I didn't even know where she is from. In my entire life, she had never introduced me to a single relative. She couldn't even tell me who my father was. She remained adamant that the information was not important. She never even bothered to put his name on my birth certificate!  

In the last three years of her life, she was in a nursing home. She had insisted that I take her there and had already written it in her will, a document she kept shoving in my face whenever she could. But that's before she had gotten too ill. 

I didn't think a nursing home was the best place for my mother. See she had been an internet addict all her life. At least that's how it looked to me. She spent her life on the screen. From sunrise to sunset she sat in front of that screen only stepping out to relieve herself, to shower or to shop. She ate while watching it. 

I felt that the strict rules at the home could have prevented her from living this life. After all, it's all she had known and I didn't want to change it especially at the last minute. Did she really want this? To be free from the internet chains one last time? 

I don't remember a blissful memory that we might have shared growing up. She never took me to the park, for a walk, to fish or anything like that. It was just basics. She never even showed up to my school plays. But I might add that we never lacked. At least in the basic ways. I always had a roof over my head, food on the table and clothes on my back. She usually gave me a weekly allowance and bought me the latest gadgets. I never understood how she was able to do this. 

When I was cleaning up her house after she died, I found her invitation to my wedding still unopened. I had sent it 12 years back. She had probably spent that entire day on the internet doing I don't know what. 

Her door was always locked whenever she was in her room. And once I had sneaked in a moment and tried to check her search history but it had been wiped clean. 

As a child, even if it hurt me, I had let her be. She was my mother after all and her authority could not be questioned. My rebellious teenage self had tried to confront her. Asking tough questions on why she chose the internet over me. 

"I don't even remember a time that you looked at my face mother. You don't even know the colour of my eyes. What's my boyfriend's name? You don't even know and you don't even care..." 

In adulthood I let her be. Forging my own path had taken my attention away from her. My husband and kids were my focus. Not just because it was my duty but because I was determined to be present for them mentally and emotionally unlike the way my mother had been for me. It was the only family I had. All my life, my mother had refused to be my family. 

There was one thing she seemed to really care about, however. A stuffed toy owl. It had the widest eyes unlike any other I had ever seen. It had a brown velvet covering that my mother brushed from time to time. It was always next to her whenever she was in the house. I suspect she even cuddled with it while she slept. I am not sure if this is not jealousy talking but I think I remember seeing her kiss it once as a child. 

I had looked it up once and the internet said it was a barn owl. I always wondered why this thing was such an important aspect of her life. Was it from her childhood? A gift from her parents, a friend, a boyfriend? Of course, I would never get answers if I asked, so I never bothered. But that didn't stop my curiosity. I was determined to figure it out but I never got around to it. 

My curiosity-hate relationship with that thing had turned to spoke. What was in that thing really? Why did she like it so much?

After I had gotten married and moved out of the house, I never saw the thing again. I figured she had thrown it out. Finally! Like she should have done years before. I had even thought of throwing it in the trash once as a child. Like time when the garbage was being collected and shove it directly in the truck! But my mother was strict with boundaries. I chose to not cross that one however much I hated that thing. 

On the day she went to live at the nursing home, I spent the entire night looking for it at her house with no luck. After this, I concluded she had discarded it. I would have wanted to trash it myself though. Step on it, kick it, tear it to pieces and throw it as far as I could. 

I have been filling papers since my mother died. Many to government authorities as required by law. And I have been getting several communication back in regards to her. I usually rush to open these mail in the hope that I might find some new info about my mother. She might be gone but my curiosity hasn't. 

Two weeks ago I received a sealed envelope that had been addressed to me. Inside there was a printed piece of paper with the letters gjfgfjnxsf. This perplexed me. What could it have possibly meant? I decided to hold on to it though as I tried to decipher it. The next day I received another with the letters fhhkbdhbhgjncn. And the following day I received another with the letters gjbcbmvcjooyy. They all didn't have a return address. 

Art/ author

This looked like a pattern. And I anxiously waited for more mail in the following days but nothing came. As I was playing around with the three pieces of paper in an attempt to piece the puzzle, I realized that the three had all been torn at the edges. I placed them together and discovered that they had all originally been one piece of paper! 

What was this? A password? A link? A clue? 

I was scared of looking the letters up. What had been my mother hiding all these years and who was sending this mail to me? Whatever it was I needed time to process before deciding what to do. I even kept the information and the existence of the pieces of paper from my husband. 

Yesterday at around eleven in the morning a delivery person knocked on my door. I usually work from home. I design websites for a living and my office is at my house. I went to the door to receive the delivery. I imagined my husband or kids had ordered something online. 

"Are you Madam Gal Mux?" The bespectacled young man asked me. 

"Yeeeah..." I muttered puzzled. I didn't remember ordering anything. 

"Sign here."

I took the sheet he was handing me and signed even though reluctantly. 

He took it back to confirm the markings I had made and then went to his delivery truck and came back with a light handheld package. 

"When is your mother's birthday?" 

"27th October." 

He then entered the details into the iPad he was also holding. After a click sound that must have implied an unlocking, he handed me the item on his left hand and left. 

What could this possibly be? I rushed inside the house, sat on the couch and proceeded to open it. You can only imagine what I saw glaring back at me. That ugly barn owl toy from my childhood! 

What was this now? I took it out of the box and examined it. Now I had all the time in the world. I poked its eyes, shook its head, poked its belly, lifted its wings, and twisted its neck. What was my mother trying to tell me? 

I had placed it on the table in front of me to try and figure it out from a different angle when I noticed that it rested steadily as though there was something inside it. I grabbed it and tore it apart with my bare hands. It was very satisfying. I had wanted to do this all my life. Inside it was this white fluff. And buried in the fluff was what looked like a black flash drive. 

I took it and rushed to my laptop. I inserted it. In it was a file. I clicked on it. 

Enter private key. The prompt instructed me. What private key? I was stuck for a second before remembering the three pieces of paper that had come in the mail. I got them out of the drawer and entered them. It worked. I had unlocked it. 

I read the contents. You have 37 bitcoin. I could not believe what was right in front of me. What game was my mother playing from the grave? 

Below this was a message:

So that you can be the mother I was never able to be to you. 

Below the message was a link. I clicked on it. It was a story about an 8-year-old girl that had poisoned her entire family. She lived in a village called Owl. Below that story was another link. It was about the poisoning being an accident as the girl had only intended to poison their father who was violent and was sexually abusing his wife and all their 5 daughters. Below that story was another link. It was a story about the 8-year-old girl disappearing without a trace from the system. 

I think I had finally known who my mother was. And where she was from. The information cut through me like I knife. 

I closed my laptop, sunk into my chair and gazed. I didn't know what to think or feel. But what I knew for sure, is that I had just begun the journey of finding out who I was! And who my mother was. And she was leading me to it. All from her grave.

Art/author

a

Mystery
41

About the Creator

Gal Mux

Lover of all things reading & writing, 🥭 &

🍍salsas, 🍓 & vanilla ice cream, MJ & Beyoncé.

Nothing you learn is ever wasted - Berry Gordy

So learn everything you can.

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Comments (1)

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  • James Boyd Fuller2 years ago

    Interesting how the mind works and understands. Even in times of pain our most avid understanding is calculating a response to reduce the suffering.

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