12 comments

Drama Fiction

I cleaned the grandfather clock today, just as she asked. I polished the frame and wiped the glass door. I dusted the pendulum and the weights,and used the step ladder to dust the top, too, making sure to check every square inch of its surfaces for potential filth.

But it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough for her.

“Now the pendulum’s crooked, what did you do?”

“How did you miss that smudge right there?”

“I asked you to do one simple task…”

I swear if it weren’t for the oxygen tank and the cancer engulfing her insides, she’d stand right up out of that wheelchair and do it herself, just to prove her point. Even now, in her helpless state, with only me there to support her, I am not enough for my mother.

*****

I took Mother for a walk today, pushing the wheelchair through her neighborhood filled fond memories. The weather was beautiful, with a bright blue sky and light, pleasant breeze. I thought that the fresh air would help her breathe a little easier, and the memories could help heal her wounded soul. People were out enjoying the day, smiling and waving to us as we passed.

But it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough.

“The Petersons died, why remember that?”

“I remember when this used to be a good place to live.”

“I have no use for watching other people live better than me.”

Her body is weakening, but her bitterness remains ever-strong,and her distaste for happiness is outlasting her paper-thin skin. Mother has always been cantankerous, ever since I was a child, but I thought the nature of her current circumstances would soften her. 

It hasn’t.

*****

I cleaned the grandfather clock today. Again. For the thousandth time. This time I removed the weights and pendulum so that I could adequately rub in the brass cleaning solution, the way mother had always done it. I rubbed until my reflection looked back at me and I grimaced from the pain in my wrists. Surely this time will be the time that the clock is glowing so brightly that it will outshine her utter contempt for all things good.

But it wasn’t enough. Can I ever be enough?

“Now the pendulum’s bent. Did you put it on the right way?”

“That’s too much cleaner! You’ll ruin the mechanisms!”

“That’s not how I would do it at all.”

Somehow Mother’s heart grows colder with each passing day. She overlooks how I dropped my life to move in and care for her, and showers me with criticism instead of accolades.

*****

My brother called today, the first time in three weeks. Mother was all smiles and eagerly ripped the phone from my hand as soon as she heard it was him. She beamed like the shining sun, as if her long lost child had finally returned after years of being thought dead. She fawned over him as overjoyed words dripped from her lips. 

He is always enough. Better than enough.

“Oh, my beautiful boy! I miss you so much!”

“You are such a good son, not like that sister of yours.”

“I wish you were here to take care of me, come visit me soon!”

Each word was like poison to my soul, and I left before she could see that she got to me. He calls as he pleases, and rarely bothers to visit. He certainly has no hands in the 24-hour cycle of care required to keep our mother comfortable. I am here when he is not, but this makes little difference to her. I am still the villain in her story. 

*****

I cleaned the grandfather clock today. I was certain I could get it right this time, and hear just one word of praise from my ailing mother. I wound the clock with its key, and cleared every smudge from the glass, being sure to leave not even one fingerprint behind. 

But it wasn’t enough. Why can’t it be enough?

“You wound it too tightly! Now the chimes aren’t right.”

“I have to endure more of your slacking.”

“If your brother were here…”

I am also wound tightly, and I may explode. I cannot take another day of being made to feel as if I am filled with ineptitude. Mother is ungrateful and impossible. The cancer is taking too long.

*****

Mother passed away today. I held her hand as she breathed her last breath, my brother noticeably absent. I played the soft music that she loved so dearly, and opened the bedroom door so she could hear her clock chime, one last time. Before she passed, she opened her eyes and gave me a softened look I’d never seen before. She squeezed my hand tightly. Quietly, I whispered, 

“It’s okay, Momma, I  know.”

“You did the best you could with me.”

“You can go on your way now, no need to stay here.”

I love, hate, and miss her, all in one terrible, formidable mix. I wanted it over, but now part of me is gone. I feel relief at her passing, but guilt over being relieved. Even in death, she makes me miserable. 

*****

I cleaned the grandfather clock today. I cried as I polished, not knowing exactly why I was cleaning it. No one was there to tell me my technique was all wrong, or to do it this way or that. No one was there to care at all. Still, I straightened the pendulum and wiped all of the smudges from the metal accents. I took out the wood polish and took my time wiping every speck of dust. In a way, it felt good to clean it, one last time, and I thought to myself,

“You were enough. You were always enough.”

“She was lucky you were here.”

“I forgive her.”

Wiping my tears along with the dust, I put the cleaning supplies away in the cabinet, right next to the bottle of my emotional dysfunction. I don’t need any of it anymore. My heart is lighter, and I am letting go. 

March 31, 2023 21:15

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12 comments

Bobbi Brown
03:36 Apr 13, 2023

"The cancer is taking too long" THIS is a hard thing to admit feeling and yet, so many have felt it!! This hit me right in the gut. I have said these words and felt so horribly guilty for feeling them. Thank you for this story.

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Nona Yobis
04:28 Apr 13, 2023

This is one of the most difficult emotions that caregivers have confessed to me over the years, which is why I felt it so important to include in this particular story. It is such a normal, natural way to feel, even when there is no animosity toward the sick person otherwise. Who wants to watch another person suffer, and who wants to suffer themselves? Feeling relief after a loved one passes away is one of the most universal responses to death, even though it is often mixed with many other emotions.

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19:49 Apr 12, 2023

“It’s okay, Momma, I know.” “You did the best you could with me.” Ooof. The feels, it hurts. Being locked in a toxic relationship with only death as the way out is beyond heartbreaking. Loved it.

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Nona Yobis
04:26 Apr 13, 2023

While it is such a sad story, it does warm my heart to know that it has been able to touch people on an emotional level. There is a lot of truth built into it, and although it was not a story of my personal journey, it has been the story for so many other people.

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Philippa Hibberd
11:29 Apr 11, 2023

I've known too many people like this, never satisfied no matter what others do for them, to the point where I've thought there's no point in even trying because they won't see it. So I'm all too familiar with the feeling of wanting to do right by them, yet also resenting them. Your experience is proof of why carers' rights are just as important as patients' rights - all too often, caregivers are taken for granted. And while ageism against the elderly is a very real problem that needs to be addressed, so is discrimination against younger fol...

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Nona Yobis
04:25 Apr 13, 2023

Very true, caregivers are often overlooked in terms of emotional response, but their experiences are equally as valid as the person who is ill. I am glad you were able to notice the push/pull of the story that I was going for---the desire to do the right thing for the ill person, while at the same time having the pent up feelings of resentment.

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Mary Bendickson
17:14 Apr 10, 2023

Told like you lived it. Which in truth you did through others. Such insight. Very touching.

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Nona Yobis
04:23 Apr 13, 2023

Thank you! I am so glad it resonated with you!

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Mary Bendickson
04:46 Apr 13, 2023

You are great writer proved by two SL in short time!

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Viga Boland
16:52 Apr 08, 2023

Ah Nona…straight from your heart to mine. How well I remember those incongruous feelings as I looked after my mom in her final few years. She too drove me nuts sometimes, always complaining about how bad the world had become, how awful modern music was, and reminding me my father told her we woukd only look after her to get our hands on her money when she passed. Then she passed and now I think of her constantly, berating myself for not having more time and patience with her, and now recognizing that today, I am becoming more and more like ...

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Nona Yobis
17:08 Apr 08, 2023

It makes me feel good to know that my story was able to touch you. I was a hospice social worker for almost 10 years, and I saw this so many times over in the caregiver/patient dynamic. This story is an amalgamation of their experiences.

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Viga Boland
17:38 Apr 08, 2023

Just shows that though worlds and experiences apart we all may be, we are really all so similar.

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