Emily visited her mother every other day, leaving food and water by the bedside before slipping away like a shadow.
I have a neighbour named Emily. Her mother had lived alone for years. Once, she was a marvellous cook, filling the house with the scent of roast dinners and freshly baked pies, sharing them with family and neighbours alike.
But Emily was ashamed of her mothera simple country woman who had spent her life working the land. After her husbands passing, the old woman was left alone. Emily rarely visited. And her mother began forgetting thingssmall at first, then slipping into nonsense.
One day, Emily arrived to the stench of burning. The oven had been left on.
“What on earth are you doing? Cant even warm a meal without setting the house ablaze?” Emily shouted.
“Im sorry, love! Its never happened before,” her mother pleaded.
Time passed, and her health worsened. Walking became a struggle, even within the house.
One evening, she called Emily in a trembling voice.
“Em, I dont feel rightmy blood pressures gone funny. Can you come?”
“Am I a doctor? Ring for an ambulance!” Emily snapped, hanging up.
After that, her mother stopped leaving the house entirely, and Emily had to visit weekly. She bought the cheapest groceries, gave the place a half-hearted tidy, and took out the binsall the while fuming.
“I dont understand how you live like this! One person, and the place is a pigsty! Have you no shame?”
Shed slam the door on her way out. Eventually, her mother stopped rising from bed. Emily came every other day, leaving meals by the bedside before vanishing again. One day, she arrived to silence. Her mother was gone.
After the funeral, Emily began visiting the grave often, whispering into the wind.
“Oh, how I miss my darling mum! She was the dearest, most beloved soul in the world!”
Did she truly remember only the good? Had she forgotten how shed neglected her, refused to help, refused to care? How could it be?
