The unfinished prayer

A grey-haired woman, chilly wrapped in a warm shawl, was standing at the black opening of the window. She was looking at the sky of the same color and praying, hardly moving her dry and lifeless lips. A strand of her hair fell casually on her face, but the woman seemed to see nothing. Her filmy eyes were surveying the endless blackness of the sky in hopes that somewhere between those dark clouds she would see a glittering ray of a star or a thin crescent moon which could symbolize the last hope of hers.
Aglaya Feodorovna, the very woman, had lately celebrated her fiftieth anniversary. She had a rare fun, friends and colleagues appreciated Aglaya. Why not? She was a wonderful mother and a good wife. She was a very good head mistress – as good as gold. However, an instant turned over her life, her husband died… Aglaya could hardly outlive the loss. Having fallen ill seriously, she left her favorite job. The domestic labor of hers helped to survive and even pay for her grown-up daughter’s studies. Only a short time before one could have heard a joyful laughter at home, there had been much love. Though, one day Aglaya Feodorovna was called with the insensitive word: "mother". It happened suddenly, like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. Aglaya woke up at night from a strong heartbeat. Being unaware of anything, she habitually reached for the pills, but suddenly realized that my daughter had not come home to spend the night. She asked for leave in the evening, she had already become grown-up and independent. Aglaya seized her telephone, putting on her glasses convulsively. It was already four o’clock, but she did neither telephone calls nor messages. What happened? Aglaya’s shaky hands were dialing and dialing the number of her daughter. Long tones were tearing the night silence. However, the time was passing by. It was six o’clock, eight o’clock, 10 o’clock… Without understanding what to do else, she went outdoors.
– Hello, Aglaya! Have you come to meet an ambulance car? You’re looking so pale. Come home, have a rest. I shall meet it. Why didn’t you call Alisa? I have just seen her in the shop.
The neighbor’s words pierced the breast like a spike and poured an anesthetic effect. “Thank you, God, she’s alive”, - her soul triumphed but a dull pain started to pour in her head again, it grasped her throat, burning everything in the breast. Aglaya began to dab the telephone’s screen with her finger again. Her hands were shivering, but the call of sacred telephone subscriber was accepted. Long tones tore chaos in her thoughts again. “Why, how, what is it?” – everything got stuck in the head without any explication.
Alisa came back in the afternoon and sneaked quickly into her room. Time passed, their relationships were becoming abrasive as a chord that was going to break. Now, late at night, standing at the window, Aglaya was waiting for and praying. Suddenly she remembered her mother who went to a dancing club with a walking-stick in order to take Aglaya. She remembered an offence, when she chased her home in front of everybody. However, this offence seemed to be so small, absurd and even funny. Suddenly she remembered Kolya, the son of the owner of a bathhouse who held Aglaya rudely in his barn till the morning where he had enticed her by deceit. She remembered that shame, how she was afraid of shouting and calling for help. That she would meet Kolya’s mother and would be ashamed before the whole village. She remembered potatoes grilled on the campfire. How the whole gang of friends hid in the reinforced-concrete pipe under the railway line. It was their place, the very place where they could sing to a guitar, tell jokes and new stories about Kostya Kinchev , Butusov , Victor Tsoi  and a popular band “Kino”. Strange feelings were capturing her more and more and were breathing ardently in the breast. Shame was mixing up with a pleasant recollection, offence – with compassion, foolery of youth – with wisdom of mature ages. The whole life flashed in her head like a speed play of a film. But Aglaya continued to pray. She believed that someone was praying for her that moment too. Could she outlive it without the God? To forgive. Never remember malice. Never become hard-hearted and lose faith in good human relationships. She remembered the last words of her daughter again:
– Mother, don’t wait for me today! I won’t come. Stoop looking at me like this, I am an adult. Don't disrupt my life!
Darkness behind the window strained her heart. Most of all Aglaya wanted to forgive Alisa. “Forgive, forgive…” – it was pulsing in her head.
– My Lord, help me to forgive her. You have shown me mercy by forgiving me. In the past, on the Cross, Jesus Christ died for me, for my sins, so that I might be forgiven, had mercy, my God. You called me Pardoned and Forgiven. I am yours, my Lord! Help me to have mercy on my daughter. Resentment breaks my heart! Heal, Lord, my heart! Find my daughter where she is and bring her home safe and sound. I cannot do anything, but You are Almighty! Everything is possible for You. Lord, can you hear me? My lord... Lord, give me breath, don't take it away... Give me more time to wait for my daughter. Now... now You will bring her home... I need to have time to say how much I love her and forgive her... forgi-i-i-ah...
Having exhaled for the last time, the body of Aglaya limped and fell down on the floor. A smile froze on her deathly pale face, and on her lips there was an unfinished but the most powerful prayer of a mother, who keeps her children like a faithful guardian of Heaven, leading them by mercy and grace to the great Forgiveness...

 Kostya Kinchev – a Russian rock singer, musician, the main songwriter for the Russian rock/hard rock band Alisa.
 Butusov – a Russian singer and a songwriter, the lead singer of the musical band Nautilus Pompilius and U-Piter.
 Victor Tsoi – a Soviet and Russian singer and songwriter who co-founded the musical band Kino, one of the most popular bands in the history of Russian music