[nukkad] Old Age

["Taher Y Kagalwala" <>]

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Genius may have its limitations, but stupidity is not thus handicapped.
 -- Elbert Hubbard
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Something touchy I read:


She smiles as she sits uncomfortably to one side in the rocking chair as her
arthritic and degenerating hip aches from years of life. Her slip sticking
out from beneath her brightly colored, floral, polyester skirt. She is
eighty five years old and surrounded by her family and generations of
grandchildren. She watches them talk and gesture to each other and sometimes
to her as she tries to figure out what they're saying. She asks them
questions about their jobs and their cars. Complimenting them on their looks
and achievements, time and time again. She can't remember if she already
asked that question or not. A few years ago, she could understand them fine,
but her hearing isn't what it used to be. Nothing is like it used to be.

She wishes everyone could understand what it's like to get old and lonely,
but then again, she wouldn't wish this life on anyone.

To each house she is exchanged to her three daughters and their busy lives.
To other friends and family as well. She can stay by herself in her own
house for a day or two, but she forgets to take her medications and it gets
cold and lonely. Despite her daughter's wishes, she's afraid that she won't
have enough money to heat the whole house, so at night she sleeps without
heat and the blankets pulled up over her head. She was raised that way, and
lived that way all of her life. Don't waste a penny.

There is food in her refrigerator and freezer they give to people like her
on a program for old people. Sometimes she cooks one of those dinners to
eat. What she doesn't eat, she keeps. She can't waste uneaten food either.
It builds up for days and weeks until someone cleans it out. She tells them
she might need it and they show her that there's plenty of food left and
will be more. Still, sometimes she forgets there are meals to fix so she
eats peanut butter. There's a lot of things she forgets, but some things she
never will.

Each day she wakes up before the sun rises. She knows he's not there with
her, but sometimes if still feels like it. He is the first thing she thinks
of when she wakes up and the last thought on her mind before she goes to
sleep. She rolls over and gently runs her hand over the place where he used
to lie. It's cold and empty. She shivers as she remembers he's gone. She
wants to talk to him, to tell him things but he's not there to talk to. She
painfully crawls out of bed and puts on her dress to begin yet another day.

She makes her way down the hall to the warm kitchen remembering how they
used to walk together talking and planning out their day. They loved each
other reverently and spent every minute of every day together going places
or working around the house. She's hungry, but when she turns on the light
and shuffles toward the stove she realizes she has lost her appetite. Food
seems pointless and unsatisfying.

With a mournful sigh she drops down into a kitchen chair next to the heater
instead. She looks instantly exhausted. She props her elbows on the table
and cradles her head in her hands as her eyes begin to mist over and a tear
rolls down her cheek. She doesn't bother to get her handkerchief.

She reaches across the table to the picture that has become her only comfort
and her deepest sorrow since he died. It's been seven years since that day
and it hasn't gotten any easier. She holds it gently and stares into his
face wishing hopelessly that he would spring from the picture and take her
in his arms, kissing her on the cheek and laughing deeply, telling her that
everything would be fine. Showing her that he's here now and will never go
away again.

She kisses the glass where his face is and talks to him anyway. She can't
stop herself. Oh, at the pain and misery she feels. She holds the picture to
her heart and closes her eyes leaning back in the chair. It will be a while
before anyone comes to pick her up. This is her special time with him and
her memories.

Gradually, after a few silent minutes, her breathing becomes steady and the
picture slips a little lower and slides to rest on her lap as she begins to
drift into a peaceful sleep where he is with her once again.
© Copyright 2002 Tamra Lockard (UN: thrillchill at Writing.Com).


With Best Wishes,
Dr. Taher Kagalwala
(drtaher.ol24@hathway.com)


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