I remember how my mother Emily, when she was 35, believed she would never know what it meant to be truly happy as a woman, but fate had something else in store for her. She and Henry came together when they were both almost forty years old. By that time, Henry had been a widower for three years. My mother had never been married, but she had a son me. As the old saying goes in our community, she had the child for her own sake. In her younger days, she was involved with a good-looking dark-haired man named Oliver, who promised to marry her and swept the young Emily off her feet. She fell for his promises, which proved to be false. It turned out later that the suitor from the city was already married.
Oliver’s wife even came to my mother to plead with the girl not to break up another family. Young and inexperienced, Emily gave in. But she decided to keep the child.
That’s how it was. My mother gave birth to me, Thomas. And I became her sole comfort and joy. I was well-raised and did well in my studies. After school, I went to university to study economics.
Henry would visit my mother several times. He proposed that they live together. But she hesitated, although she liked him. My mother felt a bit ashamed about having a son and about the idea of finally finding happiness.
One evening, I decided to talk to my mother. I told her that I was not against it: “Mom, I’m not going to be living at home anyway. Henry is a reliable man. As long as he doesn’t mistreat you. The main thing is that you are happy.” Henry’s son Robert was also okay with it.
So they started living as a couple. They got married and had a small party. My mother worked in the village library, and Henry was a farmer. They did all the work together. They ran the household, raised livestock, and worked the garden. They loved and respected each other, though it was unfortunate that they never had children together.
Both my brother Robert and I got married, and they got to see their grandchildren. Every holiday, they prepared treats for us and the grandkids: home-grown eggs, milk, cream, pork, and chicken from their own farm. On holidays, their cottage was full of guests. Then Henry and my mother would sit at the table, pleased and glad that they had family to celebrate with.
Only in the evenings, when the old couple went to bed, each would secretly hope to be the first to leave this world… so they would never have to feel alone.
The years passed. And one day, trouble came… In the morning, my mother started feeling sick while she was cooking soup in the kitchen. The elderly woman fell down. Henry, with the neighbors’ help, called an ambulance. The doctors said she had had a stroke. All her abilities were there except one. My mother could no longer walk.
I came with my wife to visit her. I gave some pounds for the medicines and then departed.
Henry rented a car, and when my mother was discharged from the hospital, he and a neighbor carried her into the house.
“Everything will be fine,” he reassured her, “just stay alive. Even if all you can do is sit and talk with me. Just live. And I’ll take care of everything. Just don’t leave me, my love!”
Henry looked after his wife very well. After a month, she moved to an armchair. She assisted him in the kitchen. They kept doing things together. They peeled potatoes and carrots, picked over the beans. They even baked bread. In the evenings, my mother and Henry would talk about how they would continue living. Winter was approaching. And Henry didn’t have the strength to cut firewood anymore.
“Maybe the children could take us to stay with them for the winter, and in the spring and summer we could handle things ourselves…”
On the weekend, I arrived with my wife. My wife Sophie, after examining the whole room, stated:
“We’ll have to separate you, you lovebirds. We’ll come for mother next week. I’ll prepare the room. And then we’ll pick her up.”
“And what about me?” Henry asked awkwardly in a whisper. “We’ve never been apart. Children, how can you do this?”
“Well, that was before, when you had the energy for the household and could manage on your own, but now it’s different. Let your son take you in as well. Nobody will take both of you together.”
My wife and I went home. Henry and my mother sighed bitterly and thought about what to do. Each of them, when going to sleep, hoped not to wake up, to avoid seeing this happen.
The next weekend, both sons came. We started gathering the things. Henry sat next to my mother’s bed. He kept looking at her, remembering their early years together. And he wept… He pressed close to his ill wife. And whispered:
“Forgive me, Emily, that things turned out this way for us… We must have slipped up somewhere in bringing up the children. They are dividing us like unwanted kittens. Forgive me. I love you…”
My mother wanted to touch her husband’s cheek with her hand, but she didn’t have the strength… Henry left, wiping his tears with his sleeve. And when he sat in the car, he didn’t wipe them anymore…
Then I, along with my wife and a neighbor, began to get my mother ready, wrapping her in a blanket and carrying her out of the house… feet first. The sick woman thought this was very symbolic… My mother didn’t resist; she was already gone inside when Henry left. And the ill woman only wanted not to last until the evening.
A week passed. On a fine autumn day, exactly on All Saints’ Day, their wish came true. My mother Emily and Henry met again in the other world.
This taught me never to allow such separations and to always support my own family in staying together, no matter what the years bring.I remember how my mother Emily, when she was 35, believed she would never know what it meant to be truly happy as a woman, but fate had something else in store for her. She and Henry came together when they were both almost forty years old. By that time, Henry had been a widower for three years. My mother had never been married, but she had a son me. As the old saying goes in our community, she had the child for her own sake. In her younger days, she was involved with a good-looking dark-haired man named Oliver, who promised to marry her and swept the young Emily off her feet. She fell for his promises, which proved to be false. It turned out later that the suitor from the city was already married.
Oliver’s wife even came to my mother to plead with the girl not to break up another family. Young and inexperienced, Emily gave in. But she decided to keep the child.
That’s how it was. My mother gave birth to me, Thomas. And I became her sole comfort and joy. I was well-raised and did well in my studies. After school, I went to university to study economics.
Henry would visit my mother several times. He proposed that they live together. But she hesitated, although she liked him. My mother felt a bit ashamed about having a son and about the idea of finally finding happiness.
One evening, I decided to talk to my mother. I told her that I was not against it: “Mom, I’m not going to be living at home anyway. Henry is a reliable man. As long as he doesn’t mistreat you. The main thing is that you are happy.” Henry’s son Robert was also okay with it.
So they started living as a couple. They got married and had a small party. My mother worked in the village library, and Henry was a farmer. They did all the work together. They ran the household, raised livestock, and worked the garden. They loved and respected each other, though it was unfortunate that they never had children together.
Both my brother Robert and I got married, and they got to see their grandchildren. Every holiday, they prepared treats for us and the grandkids: home-grown eggs, milk, cream, pork, and chicken from their own farm. On holidays, their cottage was full of guests. Then Henry and my mother would sit at the table, pleased and glad that they had family to celebrate with.
Only in the evenings, when the old couple went to bed, each would secretly hope to be the first to leave this world… so they would never have to feel alone.
The years passed. And one day, trouble came… In the morning, my mother started feeling sick while she was cooking soup in the kitchen. The elderly woman fell down. Henry, with the neighbors’ help, called an ambulance. The doctors said she had had a stroke. All her abilities were there except one. My mother could no longer walk.
I came with my wife to visit her. I gave some pounds for the medicines and then departed.
Henry rented a car, and when my mother was discharged from the hospital, he and a neighbor carried her into the house.
“Everything will be fine,” he reassured her, “just stay alive. Even if all you can do is sit and talk with me. Just live. And I’ll take care of everything. Just don’t leave me, my love!”
Henry looked after his wife very well. After a month, she moved to an armchair. She assisted him in the kitchen. They kept doing things together. They peeled potatoes and carrots, picked over the beans. They even baked bread. In the evenings, my mother and Henry would talk about how they would continue living. Winter was approaching. And Henry didn’t have the strength to cut firewood anymore.
“Maybe the children could take us to stay with them for the winter, and in the spring and summer we could handle things ourselves…”
On the weekend, I arrived with my wife. My wife Sophie, after examining the whole room, stated:
“We’ll have to separate you, you lovebirds. We’ll come for mother next week. I’ll prepare the room. And then we’ll pick her up.”
“And what about me?” Henry asked awkwardly in a whisper. “We’ve never been apart. Children, how can you do this?”
“Well, that was before, when you had the energy for the household and could manage on your own, but now it’s different. Let your son take you in as well. Nobody will take both of you together.”
My wife and I went home. Henry and my mother sighed bitterly and thought about what to do. Each of them, when going to sleep, hoped not to wake up, to avoid seeing this happen.
The next weekend, both sons came. We started gathering the things. Henry sat next to my mother’s bed. He kept looking at her, remembering their early years together. And he wept… He pressed close to his ill wife. And whispered:
“Forgive me, Emily, that things turned out this way for us… We must have slipped up somewhere in bringing up the children. They are dividing us like unwanted kittens. Forgive me. I love you…”
My mother wanted to touch her husband’s cheek with her hand, but she didn’t have the strength… Henry left, wiping his tears with his sleeve. And when he sat in the car, he didn’t wipe them anymore…
Then I, along with my wife and a neighbor, began to get my mother ready, wrapping her in a blanket and carrying her out of the house… feet first. The sick woman thought this was very symbolic… My mother didn’t resist; she was already gone inside when Henry left. And the ill woman only wanted not to last until the evening.
A week passed. On a fine autumn day, exactly on All Saints’ Day, their wish came true. My mother Emily and Henry met again in the other world.
This taught me never to allow such separations and to always support my own family in staying together, no matter what the years bring.
