| Biographical Non-Fiction posted July 12, 2013 |
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To forgive is to let go and start anew.
Last Chance
by Aussie
She lay there, eyes closed; a faint smile on her wizened face. My Mother seemed to be in another world, thinking of days gone by.
"Hello," I held her tiny hand - so warm.
Her misted eyes fluttered open and she tried to sit up. She hadn't eaten her dinner because the tray was too far away from her bed.
"Mum, would you like some dinner,?" I removed the lid from the now cold food.
"I've had dinner, dear."
What sort of nursing home had I placed her in? My guilt rose steadily as I propped her up with pillows. She looked so tiny in that messy bed. Then I realized that she was wet.
My sister went looking for a nurse to change Mother. There was no staff to be seen. And so we told Mum that she had spilled some food and we were going to change her nightgown.
I couldn't tell her she had wet the bed. Having nursed geriatric patients myself, I knew how long she had been lying in urine.
After we sponged her, changed the sheet and made her more comfortable - we sat with her and we listened to her relate stories about her childhood and dear Daddy.
The hardest decision I had to make was to commit her to a nursing home. She had been a real lady in her heyday - dressed to perfection and she kept us clean and tidy. I never really got on with my mother; she was selfish and greedy and had to have the best of everything. On the other hand - my dad worked six days a week and handed his pay over to her - she spent it with gusto.
Now, I was in charge of her life - and death. I didn't want to be the one to make decisions; someone had to. Dad was gone and my sister hated her. Mother had physically abused both of us - slapping faces and spoiling everything that we treasured - because she could.
After moving her five times from different nursing homes - finally I waited to see if she would settle in the latest one.
She pleaded with me to let her stay at my home - I told her that I couldn't look after her because I was an amputee and had enough on my plate looking after myself. I hoped that the Kippa-Ring Nursing Home would be her last place.
"Daddy came to see me today," she patted my face.
"Oh? Did he look well?" I played along with her ramblings.
"Oh, yes," he came to take me home."
We managed to get some hot food for her, but she refused.
"Girls,I'm sorry for how I slapped you - please forgive me."
We received a phone call from the Nursing Home the next day.
"Your mother has passed away."
500 Words Writing Contest contest entry
She lay there, eyes closed; a faint smile on her wizened face. My Mother seemed to be in another world, thinking of days gone by.
"Hello," I held her tiny hand - so warm.
Her misted eyes fluttered open and she tried to sit up. She hadn't eaten her dinner because the tray was too far away from her bed.
"Mum, would you like some dinner,?" I removed the lid from the now cold food.
"I've had dinner, dear."
What sort of nursing home had I placed her in? My guilt rose steadily as I propped her up with pillows. She looked so tiny in that messy bed. Then I realized that she was wet.
My sister went looking for a nurse to change Mother. There was no staff to be seen. And so we told Mum that she had spilled some food and we were going to change her nightgown.
I couldn't tell her she had wet the bed. Having nursed geriatric patients myself, I knew how long she had been lying in urine.
After we sponged her, changed the sheet and made her more comfortable - we sat with her and we listened to her relate stories about her childhood and dear Daddy.
The hardest decision I had to make was to commit her to a nursing home. She had been a real lady in her heyday - dressed to perfection and she kept us clean and tidy. I never really got on with my mother; she was selfish and greedy and had to have the best of everything. On the other hand - my dad worked six days a week and handed his pay over to her - she spent it with gusto.
Now, I was in charge of her life - and death. I didn't want to be the one to make decisions; someone had to. Dad was gone and my sister hated her. Mother had physically abused both of us - slapping faces and spoiling everything that we treasured - because she could.
After moving her five times from different nursing homes - finally I waited to see if she would settle in the latest one.
She pleaded with me to let her stay at my home - I told her that I couldn't look after her because I was an amputee and had enough on my plate looking after myself. I hoped that the Kippa-Ring Nursing Home would be her last place.
"Daddy came to see me today," she patted my face.
"Oh? Did he look well?" I played along with her ramblings.
"Oh, yes," he came to take me home."
We managed to get some hot food for her, but she refused.
"Girls,I'm sorry for how I slapped you - please forgive me."
We received a phone call from the Nursing Home the next day.
"Your mother has passed away."
"Hello," I held her tiny hand - so warm.
Her misted eyes fluttered open and she tried to sit up. She hadn't eaten her dinner because the tray was too far away from her bed.
"Mum, would you like some dinner,?" I removed the lid from the now cold food.
"I've had dinner, dear."
What sort of nursing home had I placed her in? My guilt rose steadily as I propped her up with pillows. She looked so tiny in that messy bed. Then I realized that she was wet.
My sister went looking for a nurse to change Mother. There was no staff to be seen. And so we told Mum that she had spilled some food and we were going to change her nightgown.
I couldn't tell her she had wet the bed. Having nursed geriatric patients myself, I knew how long she had been lying in urine.
After we sponged her, changed the sheet and made her more comfortable - we sat with her and we listened to her relate stories about her childhood and dear Daddy.
The hardest decision I had to make was to commit her to a nursing home. She had been a real lady in her heyday - dressed to perfection and she kept us clean and tidy. I never really got on with my mother; she was selfish and greedy and had to have the best of everything. On the other hand - my dad worked six days a week and handed his pay over to her - she spent it with gusto.
Now, I was in charge of her life - and death. I didn't want to be the one to make decisions; someone had to. Dad was gone and my sister hated her. Mother had physically abused both of us - slapping faces and spoiling everything that we treasured - because she could.
After moving her five times from different nursing homes - finally I waited to see if she would settle in the latest one.
She pleaded with me to let her stay at my home - I told her that I couldn't look after her because I was an amputee and had enough on my plate looking after myself. I hoped that the Kippa-Ring Nursing Home would be her last place.
"Daddy came to see me today," she patted my face.
"Oh? Did he look well?" I played along with her ramblings.
"Oh, yes," he came to take me home."
We managed to get some hot food for her, but she refused.
"Girls,I'm sorry for how I slapped you - please forgive me."
We received a phone call from the Nursing Home the next day.
"Your mother has passed away."
 Recognized |
Everyone has a mother and when you think about how much she looked after you - she deserves to be looked after in her last days. My mother finally asked forgiveness - to say "I'm sorry" was all that I needed. I wish it had of been sooner because we could have been friends. Never leave it to the last moment - sort it out before your loved one dies, last chance at loving again. My sister never forgave mum and still wallows in her abusive childhood. On the other hand - mum is on the other side with dad and I know they both love me - I think we do need to forgive because none of us are perfect.
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