**Diary Entry – A Lesson in Forgiveness**
*”How can you not? She was your mother! You wept at her bedside, and now you won’t even bury her?”* Emily gasped, her frustration choking her words.
*”Dr. Emily, the patient in Room Four said Mrs. Whitmore passed away.”*
Emily set down her pen, rose from her desk, and smoothed a loose strand of hair under her nurse’s cap before stepping out of the staff room.
The door to Room Four was ajar. She entered quietly. A hunched young man stood beside the bed of Anna Whitmore, murmuring something under his breath, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Emily approached and saw at once that Anna was gone—her eyes closed, lips parted.
Her gaze shifted to the other beds. One was empty; in the other, an elderly woman caught her eye and beckoned urgently, as if she’d been waiting. Emily walked over.
*”He’s been standing there for ten minutes,”* the woman whispered, widening her eyes for emphasis. *”Begging forgiveness. Said he didn’t want anyone called—just wanted to say goodbye.”*
Emily returned to the bed.
*”We need to move her. The other patients are uneasy—”* She stopped short as the man turned abruptly, his face red and streaked with tears. *”Your mother is gone,”* she said gently. *”Nothing will change that.”*
*”A grown man, grieving so deeply. They must have been close,”* she thought sadly.
*”What was she treated for?”* he rasped.
A strange question. Most asked the cause of death.
*”Let’s discuss this in the staff room.”* She turned toward the door, but the man seized her wrist. *”Unhand me! You’re hurting me!”* she snapped.
*”Why did you let her die? She was never ill! She—”* His voice cracked.
Emily wrenched free. *”Just because she never complained doesn’t mean she was well. Or perhaps she spared you the truth. Two weeks in this ward, and you never once visited. Now you stand here weeping.”*
*”I didn’t know! I was away on business. A neighbor told me today,”* he muttered, calmer now.
Exhausted, she repeated, *”Come to the staff room.”* He didn’t move.
She left to arrange the necessary paperwork. But Anna’s son never came. The nurse, Alice, said he’d left. Emily assumed grief had overwhelmed him—he’d return.
Two days later, the morgue called. No one had collected the body.
*”No one?”* She remembered the weeping man. *”I’ll sort it,”* she said, hanging up.
*”How could he abandon her? Was he drowning his sorrows?”* She found Anna’s file and dialed the listed number.
A slurred voice answered after endless rings. *”Whaddya want?”*
*”I was your mother’s doctor. Are you arranging her funeral?”*
*”I… can’t…”*
*”How can you not? Drunk and forgotten already? She was your mother! You wept at her bedside!”* Rage tightened her throat. *”The morgue will only keep her for seven days—”*
*”You killed her, and now you call—”* The line went dead.
*”Brute!”* she spat. *”What kind of man drinks himself into forgetting his own mother’s burial?”*
She’d seen all sorts in her years as a doctor—rudeness, ingratitude—but this stung. *”He’ll sober up. I’ll call tomorrow.”*
The next day, work swallowed her attention. No call came from the morgue—he must have collected her. Still, the incident gnawed at her.
It reminded her of her own mother’s funeral…
***
Their relationship had never been easy. A single mother, strict and uncompromising. Even in secondary school, Emily had a curfew—nine o’clock. While her classmates dyed their hair wild colours, she dared not even think of it. Makeup? Out of the question.
Convincing her mother to buy the dress she loved was a battle. Practicality always won. Tears changed nothing.
One summer, Emily worked as a hospital orderly to buy herself new shoes and a dress. The joy was short-lived. Her mother scolded her for spending every penny on *”frivolities”* instead of contributing.
*”I thought when you grew up, you’d finally ease my burdens. How long must I feed a grown girl?”* her mother snapped when Emily announced her medical school acceptance.
Life under that roof was suffocating. She dreamed of escape. By her second year, she left—ignoring her mother’s shouts—moving in with a classmate, James.
When she got pregnant, he didn’t hesitate to marry her. His parents were indifferent. They planned a quiet registry office ceremony, but Emily miscarried. The wedding still happened.
On her final year, another pregnancy. She waited, fearing another loss. When the danger passed, she finally told James—only to find him in bed with another woman.
She stayed because she had nowhere else to go. Returning to her mother, pregnant, was unthinkable. James drifted away, vanishing completely when their son, Oliver, was born.
She refused to dwell on those hardest years. Her mother-in-law helped, though warmth was scarce. Eventually, things improved. Emily worked; Oliver started nursery. Her mother-in-law babysat during night shifts.
One day, a neighbour mentioned her mother was gravely ill. Emily rushed to her. Apologised for leaving, begged her to transfer to her hospital. Her mother refused.
For months, Emily juggled work, Oliver, and visits across town. She hired a carer, took extra shifts. Resentment festered.
Even after discharge, her mother wouldn’t let them move in. *”The boy’s too loud. I need quiet.”*
A year passed in exhaustion. Then, her mother stopped recognising her—railing about an *”ungrateful daughter”* who’d abandoned her.
The cruelty of it! Yet when lucidity returned, she’d shoo Emily away. *”Checking if I’m dead yet? Want my flat?”*
Emily bit back her own hurt—what good would it do?
Only when her mother weakened completely did Emily and Oliver move in. In rare moments of clarity, they spoke openly—both weeping, forgiving. Too late, but better than never.
One night, Emily woke uneasy. She found her mother awake—smiling, almost. She held her hand till dawn, until the last breath. No more bitterness left.
***
Anna’s son made Emily reflect. On Remembrance Sunday, she swapped shifts and visited the cemetery. The day was mild. She cleared wilted flowers from the grave, replaced them. Her mother’s photo on the headstone looked stern yet not unkind.
At the gates, she spotted Anna’s son speaking to someone. *”Good. He came,”* she thought. Nodding as she passed, she greeted him.
*”Wait,”* he called.
She turned.
*”You lost someone too? I… I was drunk that day. Said terrible things.”*
*”It’s Remembrance Sunday. I visited my mother.”*
*”Nine days since she… I’ve got my car. Let me drive you.”*
The bus stop was packed. The thought of a stifling ride decided her.
*”You think I’m a drunk?”* he asked as they drove.
*”I did,”* she admitted, watching graves fade behind them.
She remembered his name now—**Edward**. It was in Anna’s file.
*”I don’t even drink. Let me explain.”* A pause. *”I thought Mum understood me. Then I fell for a woman with a child. Mum gave an ultimatum: ‘Her or me.’ We split. I never forgave her. Walked out.”*
Another silence.
*”I never married. Years passed. When I heard she was ill… You know the rest.”*
*”So you delayed her burial? Held onto the grudge?”*
*”I forgave her!”* he burst out. *”I just… never got to say it.”* He slammed the wheel in despair.
*”You wanted to punish her and only hurt yourself. Now you’ll always regret those unsaid words. Forgive yourself—it helps.”*
*”It’s like you read my mind,”* he murmured.
*”My mother and I had our struggles too. Difference is, we reconciled—even if she forgot me after.”*
*”Come to mine. Nine days… It’s hard alone.”* Hope flickered in his voice.
*”I can’t. My son’s due home—”*
*”How old?”*
*”Twelve.”*
*”Old enough. Just for a bit. Mum would’ve liked you.”*
*”But I ‘killed’ her with my treatment,”* she said wryly.
*”I apologised. Please.”*
She relentedShe hesitated, then nodded, realizing that in their shared grief and regret, they had both found a rare understanding—one that might just help them heal.
