Sunshine fell in golden beams on grandma Maura’s bed. Her room was filled with flowers sent by friends and family. There were “Get well soon” cards, but they didn’t know grandma isn’t going to get well ever.
The atmosphere inside was thick with gloom and a variety of floral scents; I found it hard to breathe standing beside her.
“All you can remember is me breaking your heart,” grandma Maura’s hand was in grandpa’s, “and I regret it. I’ve spent the last fifty years trying to replace that memory with good ones, Ben.”
“I love you, Maura. Always did and always will. Every day with you is the best I’ve ever had, though I can’t remember most of them. We’ve done it, haven’t we? We’ve grown old together. I couldn’t wish for a better life than with you,” grandpa whispers, “rest, Maura. We’ve had a good life. I know we did. Rest, my love. Heaven could use a pretty lady like you.”
“I’ll miss you,” grandma said weakly as Ben leaned in to kiss her, “I’ll be waiting, Ben.”
Sad as it was, but the moment was beautiful. It was rare and authentic. Two people, loving each other so true, that one of them dying was not a goodbye—but only a ‘see you soon’.
Grandma Maura passed away that afternoon with a smile on her face.
YOU ARE READING
A Day in 1953
Short StoryEveryday with Ben is different yet very familiar at the same time. On some days, I'd remind Ben that we're related. On some days, we play cards. On some days, we talk about dogs. Everyday, he tells me I look like Maura Fischer--his first and last tr...
