The whole family saw her off. And what to hide, they told her directly about how tired of her they were. And that spring has finally come, and now she will go to the village until late autumn. Her grandchildren were cold to her, her daughter-in-law did not like her. And her son was constantly on business trips. But when he came home, he treated his mother no better than his family. She was a burden for them.
She understood everything and tolerated this attitude with the last of her strength, waiting for spring every year as something incredible. Spring came early this year. Grandma often sat near the entrance and admired the warm spring sky, basked in the sun. And she looked like a shabby sparrow. Thin, in old rags, in worn out old shoes. Despite the fact that her neighbors did not like her, they treated her well. They always greeted her, worried about her health, helped her to get up from the street to the fifth floor. And the neighbor boys even once carried a bag of groceries when they met her on the way home from school
Despite her advanced age, she always did everything around the house. She cooked, washed, cleaned. These were her duties. My daughter-in-law rarely did any of this.
– Here, you stay at home all day, so do everything here, – she would say impudently, coming home from work in the evening and throwing off her shoes in the hallway.
Her grandchildren did not talk to her. And when their friends came to visit them, she did not leave the room, because once one of the grandchildren said that she disgraced them with her appearance. She never contradicted anyone. She was more silent. And in the evenings, when everyone was asleep, she would cry quietly in her room. She was sent to the train station by taxi. So as not to go with her on buses.
She had few things with her. An old bag and a small bag with some rags. Leaning on a stick, she limped quietly along the platform. Stopping near the bench, she sat down. Soon the train arrived and she entered the carriage.
She looked out the window with a kind and bright look. When the train started, she took a crumpled photo out of her bag. Her son, grandchildren and daughter-in-law were smiling from the photo. She had seen their smiles only here lately. The old woman kissed the photo and carefully put it in her bag.
Getting off at the station, she walked quietly towards the village. Someone drove her almost to the house. She opened the gate, walked along the native path to the house. Here everything was her own, native, warm. And here she was needed.
Even if the old walls, and the old raft, and the porch, but she was needed. The village is everything for the grandmother. Here she was born. Her children were born here. She lived here more than half her life. She survived her eldest son. It so happened that he did not survive to this day.
She opened the shutters on the windows, flooded the stove. Sitting on the bench by the window, she thought. Her children used to sit on this bench. They ate at this table, and slept on those beds. They ran on this floor and looked out of these windows. Children’s voices rang in her ears. She was a mother then. The most needed one for them. The closest and dearest. And the sun also shone through the window then, and there were many happy and carefree days. She smiled at the friendly village spring.
In the morning, she did not wake up. Staying forever on her land. There were many old photos on the table. And one fresh one. But the one she remembered, the one with which her relatives smiled at her yesterday.
While we are alive, we can do a lot. To apologize, to thank, to confess our feelings. While we are alive, we have no right to postpone such things for tomorrow. After all, leaving, a person will never return, and in our hearts there are such stones that it will be very difficult to carry them. We need to live by faith. By the truth. And do good from the heart. From ourselves. To love and wait, to appreciate the feelings of others, to remember those who gave you life and put you on your feet.
