one of the saddest things to
bear witness to
is the sudden realisation
of their own mortality.
she says that she’s old
and she doesn’t want to die.
she calls aged care homes
a prison,
and she doesn’t want to collapse into the arms of death
from inside a cage.
that daughter that she stabbed in the back,
again and
again,
is the one cleaning her blood
smeared
on the tiled floor.
the daughter she leeched the
life force out of
(a parental parasite)
cries at the thought
of her mother
laying bleeding,
screaming in agony.
mortality is fickle;
her body now
hunched over,
her legs not in agreement
with her mind.
her hands
pale
shaking
blue veins protruding,
a manifestation
of her temporality.
the sadness I find is not just in
witnessing her declination;
but in watching how my mother
is being ground to the bone,
tiredness haloed under her
eyes.
her loyalty to the woman
who birthed her,
who didn’t love her,
is heroism
haloedย
in my eyes.
–ย in the decline of her life, my grandmother still seeks selfish gratification for her own gain. but watching her realise that her life is nearing the end, is a bullet to my heart, because the only artifactsย she has detailing her existence is the daughter who still cries over her mother’s past and present treatment of her, a son she has warped into a man whose life is governed by the manipulation of those around him; and two grandchildren who grew up witnessing this familial torment with friends who have left her because her mouth spread hatred, lies and gossip. what does she have? that is the sadness.
โจ ๐ฝ๐ฑ๐ฎ ๐ต๐ฒ๐ซ๐ป๐ช๐ป๐ ๐ธ๐ฏ ๐ช๐ต๐ฎ๐๐ช๐ท๐ญ๐ป๐ช โจ 