Image: Copyright NEKNEERAJ
She’d agreed to take the children home for after some hours at the hospital they were tired and bored and starting to act up.
She left her son and her daughter’s family there huddled around her bed, whispering occasionally to one another as if their voices might cause the daughter some discomfort.
She had gone to see her daughter after so many years of estrangement and was shocked at what she saw.
Before her lay an old woman, hooked up to various machines, feeding and keeping her alive.
She’d fallen apart at the sight of a daughter who was once such a beautiful child, a daughter she had, to replace the one stolen from her.
She reflected on her daughter’s life as one in which she had taken solace in anything that allowed her to numb the pain of a lifetime of trauma.
They’d spent some hours together, the past now forgotten, the mother-daughter bond re-established as she sat and talked, held her daughter’s hand so gratefully received.
With her grandchildren gathering around her she gathered the two young boys and took her leave to allow them to sit with their mother in what could be her final moments.
Now at home and with them eating and given the freedom to play unimpeded, she had time to reflect on a life she never envisaged for a daughter so loved and cared for as a child. It’s what a mother does when a child is near death.
You forget the trials and tribulations; you concentrate on those wonderful moments when your child looked at you expressed love for you.
She looked at the clock then at her phone wondering what was happening. She expected a call. She dreaded the moment it would come.
She wiped away another tear as the youngest boy crawled into her lap with a favourite book for her to read.