My mom sat up in the hospice provided hospital bed, feebly trying to rip a packing label with her name on it from an Amazon box.
She had just bought, “without asking,” what looked to be a lifetime supply of chili paste for my sister. My mom had been living with my sister for a few months as late stage Leukemia ravaged her strength.
I waited patiently next to the bed for my mom to scrape the incriminating label off the box so I could take it to the recycling.
Finally she paused and said, defeated, “you can take it, I guess it doesn’t matter.”
I took the box and quickly ripped the label off, crumpling it up in my fist.
“It does matter,” I mumbled, “it’s a good habit,” as I left the room with folded cardboard in hand. My mother lay back on the bed.
Outside the cold, grey western mass winter advanced, unstoppable and inevitable.
She had just bought, “without asking,” what looked to be a lifetime supply of chili paste for my sister. My mom had been living with my sister for a few months as late stage Leukemia ravaged her strength.
I waited patiently next to the bed for my mom to scrape the incriminating label off the box so I could take it to the recycling.
Finally she paused and said, defeated, “you can take it, I guess it doesn’t matter.”
I took the box and quickly ripped the label off, crumpling it up in my fist.
“It does matter,” I mumbled, “it’s a good habit,” as I left the room with folded cardboard in hand. My mother lay back on the bed.
Outside the cold, grey western mass winter advanced, unstoppable and inevitable.
