She wanted to die. I want her to die. Not die like in dead, but pass away, slip away. She could not and would not meet my eyes.
She refused to speak as she felt that there was nothing more to say. I understood.
From the moment she had been informed that she was going to be placed in a home, she had changed from a vivacious, funny and talkative granny into a silent and brooding old woman. The transformation was incredible.
It was almost like a sunny summer's day changing into a grey, cold and dreary November. No more the vibrant, eager and concerned grandmother, enquiring, fussing and feeding all the neighbours. She seemed no longer to care, not even about herself.
She appeared to have removed herself and relocated to her private world. She seldom spoke and when she did it was only in response to some question relating to the whereabouts of some object. All attempts to make conversation were ignored with a quiet dignified smile.
She wanted to be left alone and soon enough she had her wish. No one persisted into invading her private world.
At first all became uneasy and carried a sense of guilt. I knew the decision to place her in a home was a bad one. While it is true that she was alone most of the day and only had the company of a granddaughter and niece when they returned from work in the afternoons, she was never really by herself.
My mother was always involved in the life of the village, whatever the occasion; and so, every day someone would visit for a friendly chat and peddle gossip. Her door was always opened and she had given away the last dog so as not to deter visitors.
Her church sisters were always stopping by to pray, sing an read the scriptures. She looked forward to those visits and would ensure there were always refreshments available. Even some of the schoolchildren stopped by on their way home from school so they could pick guavas, mandarines, plums or sapodillas from her fruit trees. She looked forward to their noisy visits and enquired about their progress in school and urged them just as she had urged us to study hard.
My mother live in the same home for sixty-five years, from since she had married at twenty-five years old. Apart from a few vacation spells, this place was all she knew; and it was her world and she had ruled it firmly, proudly and thoroughly and successfully, with and without my father.
My mother was a private woman, who despite her numerous acquaintances, had only a few friends. Her family "business" was hers and she resisted any intrusion into her personal affairs.
Her confinement to a home meant for her, the loss of her domain and all it represented. She now had to relinquish her privacy, independence and freedom.
She would now have to share space with strangers- people not of her own choosing. Some of these people she whispered to me were already senile, others not cultured and the rest spent all their time sleeping. She lacked company. For the first time in her life, she was alone. She began to withdraw and develop a kind of bitterness.
She was no longer the person I knew. I felt uneasy around her. I felt guilty for dispossessing her. I felt that I had betrayed her in not standing up for her to live out her last days in her own home.
She spoke very little, asked only a few questions out of politeness. Despite her present status, she maintained her dignity. I was proud of her and pleased to be her son.
But now I wanted her to go out of this world- a small woman with a large heart and a world of dignity.
She slipped away peacefully a few days later just as I wanted her to, and I am certain she too wanted to go.
October, 1998
She refused to speak as she felt that there was nothing more to say. I understood.
From the moment she had been informed that she was going to be placed in a home, she had changed from a vivacious, funny and talkative granny into a silent and brooding old woman. The transformation was incredible.
It was almost like a sunny summer's day changing into a grey, cold and dreary November. No more the vibrant, eager and concerned grandmother, enquiring, fussing and feeding all the neighbours. She seemed no longer to care, not even about herself.
She appeared to have removed herself and relocated to her private world. She seldom spoke and when she did it was only in response to some question relating to the whereabouts of some object. All attempts to make conversation were ignored with a quiet dignified smile.
She wanted to be left alone and soon enough she had her wish. No one persisted into invading her private world.
At first all became uneasy and carried a sense of guilt. I knew the decision to place her in a home was a bad one. While it is true that she was alone most of the day and only had the company of a granddaughter and niece when they returned from work in the afternoons, she was never really by herself.
My mother was always involved in the life of the village, whatever the occasion; and so, every day someone would visit for a friendly chat and peddle gossip. Her door was always opened and she had given away the last dog so as not to deter visitors.
Her church sisters were always stopping by to pray, sing an read the scriptures. She looked forward to those visits and would ensure there were always refreshments available. Even some of the schoolchildren stopped by on their way home from school so they could pick guavas, mandarines, plums or sapodillas from her fruit trees. She looked forward to their noisy visits and enquired about their progress in school and urged them just as she had urged us to study hard.
My mother live in the same home for sixty-five years, from since she had married at twenty-five years old. Apart from a few vacation spells, this place was all she knew; and it was her world and she had ruled it firmly, proudly and thoroughly and successfully, with and without my father.
My mother was a private woman, who despite her numerous acquaintances, had only a few friends. Her family "business" was hers and she resisted any intrusion into her personal affairs.
Her confinement to a home meant for her, the loss of her domain and all it represented. She now had to relinquish her privacy, independence and freedom.
She would now have to share space with strangers- people not of her own choosing. Some of these people she whispered to me were already senile, others not cultured and the rest spent all their time sleeping. She lacked company. For the first time in her life, she was alone. She began to withdraw and develop a kind of bitterness.
She was no longer the person I knew. I felt uneasy around her. I felt guilty for dispossessing her. I felt that I had betrayed her in not standing up for her to live out her last days in her own home.
She spoke very little, asked only a few questions out of politeness. Despite her present status, she maintained her dignity. I was proud of her and pleased to be her son.
But now I wanted her to go out of this world- a small woman with a large heart and a world of dignity.
She slipped away peacefully a few days later just as I wanted her to, and I am certain she too wanted to go.
October, 1998
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