The son wanted to take his mother back to the care home. He glanced at the box before leaving.
After her husband passed, Edna sold her countryside cottage, invested in a flat for her son and his family, and moved in with them. As long as she had strength, she looked after the house and the grandchildren.
Her son and daughter-in-law worked, while Edna took the little ones to nursery, then later to school and clubs. She cooked and cleaned. The chores never weighed her downif anything, they made her happy. After all, the family needed her. But years passed. The grandchildren grew up and left the nest, and the old womans health began to fade. She tried washing the dishes, but the plates slipped from her weakened hands and shattered.
She poured herself some soup but couldnt carry it to the tableit spilled. Waking at night for a drink, her shuffling disturbed her daughter-in-law. No one wanted to talk to her. Whod bother with an old woman? Her daughter-in-law scolded her constantly, calling her a burden. What fault was it of hers? Age isnt a joy. Edna had no choice but to endure.
Her son decided to move her into a care home.
“At least shell have someone to talk to,” he told himself, easing his conscience. That morning, as they got into the car, Edna remembered her box.
“Son, fetch my box. I forgot it,” she asked timidly.
“What box?” Thomas replied.
“My treasures,” Edna said, describing it. Thomas brought it to her. The old woman hugged it to her chest with a small, contented smile.
“Mum, whats in there?” She opened it. Inside lay a lock of his baby hair and a milk tooth. The man stepped away from the car and sat on the curb. He stayed there a long while, remembering his childhoodhow his mother had always been there, caring for him, protecting him. Shed never left him without help.
“Son, are we going?” His mother stepped out of the car and walked over to him.
“Were not going anywhere, Mum. Youre staying home.”
