Flash Nonfiction
Personal Essay, Memoir, or Vignette
Laura Shell
I’m the One
I’m the one who always had to take care of her and pick up the pieces in the aftermath of her bad decisions. And there were many. And she never realized the consequences of those bad decisions.
Like the time she thought she had the stomach flu. The pain was excruciating. I told her to go to the ER. She insisted it would pass and refused to listen to me once again. It ended up being a ruptured appendix.
I was the one who had to take care of her after her exit from the hospital. I had to put my life on hold to stay with her in her cruddy apartment on her dilapidated couch. My brother was always too busy to help. He couldn’t be bothered. Ever.
She always gushed at how thankful she was that I was the one who always came to her rescue.
Then, years later, after the stroke, I’m the one who had to take a leave of absence to go to Florida to stay with her in another cruddy apartment on that same dilapidated couch to see to her needs once again.
She insisted on living on her own. Insisted. Okay. So I moved her up to be near me so I could keep an eye on her. Someone had to.
So I drove her everywhere, explained things to her countless times, taught her how to use things, cleaned up after her, cleaned her up, took her to the doctor’s, got her meds, filled her med tray, took the bad food out of the fridge, dressed her, fixed her clothing when it was on backward and inside out, carried packages into the house, took out the trash…
Again, my mother always told everyone how thankful she was that I was the one who took such good care of her.
But then, she died. I found her cold, stiff body. I can’t get the image out of my head.
It’s been nearly two years now that she has passed. In the beginning, honestly, I was relieved that I no longer had to take care of her. I got my life back. But now…I would gladly take out her trash. I would happily fill her med tray or drive her to the doctor’s, and I smile as I imagine her bitching at me as I remove all the fattening food from her fridge.
As far as mothers go, she wasn’t the greatest, but she loved me without measure. I’m the one who can’t say the same?
About the writer:
Laura Shell has been published in NUNUM, Typishly, Maudlin House, and many others. Her first anthology of paranormal stories, The Canine Collection, was released this year. She’s a prolific writer and submitter of flash fiction and the Editor-in-Chief of the Flash Phantoms site.
Image: The Venerable Old Woman of the Mountain by Antonio Sicurezza (1905-1979). Oil on canvas. No size specified. 1949. Public domain.
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