The memories come like a yester-year slide show.
Eww mom, this place if crawling with bugs. I can’t stay here.
If this place is good enough for your father and me, it’s good enough for you. Just because your some big city lawyer now, don’t forget where you came from.
Ugh, the respect-your-roots speech again!
*
Come stay with me mom, you can’t live alone.
I spent 52 years with him. Do you think I can leave him now?
But…
*
She lies beside him now.
The place is still crawling with bugs.
Somehow they seem inconsequential.
Written for Friday Fictioneers with photo prompt by Shaktiki Sharma
Advertisements
It’s a shame it takes loss to make someone realize the importance of things.
LikeLike
I think it’s more waking up to the realisation. Subconsciously it’s there. We often don’t prioritise.
LikeLike
That’s a really great little piece – adeptly spanning a life…
LikeLike
thank you
LikeLike
Mother and son changing roles – almost.
LikeLike
When one lives life the way one wants to, most of the things that seem to matter so much to the rest of the world rarely hold importance. The same is truth of death and other endings…
LikeLike
You managed to encompass a lifespan here, very beautiful.
LikeLike
Thank you. Memories tend to do that, randomly travel large distances.
LikeLiked by 1 person