By Schuyler Abrams
My mother took her sweet time dying in hospice. One of the palliative care nurses told me her death was imminent; she was a lousy fortune teller. Brooding in the private room my criminal law practice was paying for, I remembered taking my mother to a five star restaurant for an obligatory Mother’s Day brunch. In between bites of eggs Benedict, she admitted, “I never really wanted to have children.” I was snapped back to the present to hear my mother groan. “I love you, David,” she whispered. I muttered to myself, “Too late, Ma. Too late.” I left the room.
I love this. Leaving showed restraint, made for a better story than “I told her the way I really felt.” Plus it kept the author to 101.
There were a number of ways this extremely short story could have gone. This ending worked for me.
This was very well done with such a difficult subject and few words. Nice.
Thank you!