Emily visited her mother every other day. She left food and water by the bedside before slipping away.
I have a neighbour named Emily. Her mother has lived alone for years. She used to be an excellent cook, taking great joy in preparing meals and baking for the whole family, always sharing with the neighbours.
But Emily was ashamed of her mother, a plain country woman who had worked the land all her life. After her husband passed, the old woman was left on her own. Emily rarely visited, and her mother began forgetting thingssometimes even talking nonsense.
One day, Emily dropped by and was hit by the strong smell of burning. Her mother had left the oven on.
“What on earth are you doing? You cant even heat a meal without nearly burning the house down!” Emily shouted.
“Darling, Im sorry! Its the first time its happened!” her mother pleaded.
As time passed, her health worsened. Walking, even around the house, became a struggle. One day, she called Emily in a panic.
“Emily, I dont feel rightmy blood pressures gone up! Can you come?”
“What am I, a doctor? Call an ambulance!” Emily snapped before hanging up.
After that, her mother stopped leaving the house entirely, forcing Emily to visit weekly. She bought the cheapest groceries, did a half-hearted clean, and took out the binsall while fuming.
“How do you make such a mess living alone? Arent you embarrassed?”
Slamming the door behind her became routine. Eventually, her mother couldnt even get out of bed. Emily came every other day, leaving food and water by the bed before hurrying off. Then, one visit, she found her mother had passed.
After the funeral, Emily began visiting the grave often, murmuring, “I miss my dear, sweet mum so much. She was the kindest, most loving person in the world.”
Did she truly remember only the good? Had she forgotten how she neglected her, refused to help, refused to care? How could that be?
