Member-only story
The Wind Phone
Sometimes You Have to Speak the Truth
Even if it makes someone you love, cry
My mother has unwillingly surfaced from the abyss of sleep she has inhabited for three weeks. Ironically, Saturdays have become our ‘mother-daughter’ days.
Other mums and daughters are likely getting pedicures, sipping cocktails, and complaining about the men or women in their lives. But I sit at my mother’s bedside, enticing her to eat more cold lasagna and warm ice cream before she dives back into the depths between each mouthful.
I rub her cheek gently and open my lips wide as her lashes flutter. Once piercing, blue eyes turn steely grey in the dying light. She smiles and opens her mouth just enough for a small spoonful. I freeze-frame that fleeting smile and store it away in the long-term brain cells that will last until they don’t. She was beautiful once.
On this mother-daughter day, my daughter, Laura, is here also, and quieter than usual. She thinks she’s hidden the red rims around her eyes, but I see her. She watches as I unsteadily lift soup to her grandmother’s lips.
Mum has always delighted in mealtimes, eating everything in front of her with gusto. She savours each small mouthful of thin vegetable soup. A trickle of orange liquid escapes and drips…
