**Diary Entry**
Molly used to visit her every other day. Shed leave food and water by the bedside, then slip out without another word.
Ive got a neighbour named Molly. Her mum lived alone for years. Once upon a time, she was a brilliant cookcould whip up a Sunday roast or a batch of scones like nobodys business, always sharing leftovers with the rest of the street.
But Molly was embarrassed by her. Her mother was a simple country woman whod spent her whole life working the land. After her husband passed, she was left on her own. Molly hardly ever dropped in. And her mumwell, she started forgetting things. Little things at first, then bigger ones. Sometimes shed even say things that made no sense.
One day, Molly came round to a house reeking of smoke. Her mother had left the oven on.
“What on earth are you playing at? Cant even heat up your own dinner without nearly burning the place down?” Molly shouted.
“Love, Im sorry! Never happened before!” her mother pleaded.
As time went on, she grew weaker. Walking became a struggle, even just around the house. Then came the phone call:
“Mol, I dont feel rightmy blood pressures gone funny. Can you come?”
“Do I look like a doctor? Ring an ambulance!” Molly snapped, hanging up.
After that, her mother stopped leaving the house altogether. Molly had to go round once a week, buying the cheapest groceries she could find, giving the place a half-hearted tidy, taking out the bins. And every time, shed lose her temper:
“How dyou manage to make such a mess living alone? Have you no shame?”
More often than not, shed storm out, slamming the door behind her. Eventually, her mother couldnt even get out of bed. Molly visited every other dayjust long enough to drop off food and water. Then, one day, she arrived to find her gone.
After the funeral, Molly started visiting the grave regularly. Shed kneel there, murmuring, “Oh, how I miss my darling mum! The kindest, most loving soul in the world!”
Funny, that. Doesnt seem to remember how little she did for her when it mattered. Convenient, isnt it? A hard lesson: regret makes saints of us allbut only once its too late.
