The Angel Of Death - End by wysiwig
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Description
Sometimes your head hits the pillow and you’re gone. Other nights sleep will not come. Last night was such a time. In May of last year I posted a story fragment titled “The Angel of Death – A story fragment”. When I realized that I had not finished the story I promised myself I would and was able to fall asleep. I have included both parts in case you missed the first one.
The Angel of Death – A story fragment
The medical techs had helped me take down my mother’s bed. She has now been lying in a hospital bed in her own home for over two months. Her pain is so intense the morphine I give her doesn’t fully help. At best it puts her to sleep, at worst she hallucinates. She knows she is dying but is stubbornly holding on. She wants to see her other children one last time. On a day I cannot forget she calls me to her bed and, in a low voice, tells me that there is a little man sitting on the windowsill in the bathroom. She can see him from her bed. It is the Angel of Death and she is not ready to go. Will I go and tell him to leave?
I walk into the bathroom. The Angel is nothing special to look at. Thinning hair and a small potbelly. I tell him he has to leave. My mother will not go with him until she has seen her children. He ignores me. I grab his shoulder and shake him. “Get out of my mother’s house, now!” I shout. He gives me an indifferent look and shrugs his shoulders. He has all the time in the world. Then he passes through the unopened window of the bathroom and is gone. Somewhat shaken I walk back to my mother’s bedside and kneel down. “He’s gone momma.” “You’re a good son”, she whispers.
The Angel of Death – End
It’s funny how, as the end approaches, all the petty arguments and offenses that we carry with us seem to melt, no longer important. The week that followed saw visits by family and friends. Each one knew they were seeing her for the last time. The first was my mother’s brother Arthur. After his first wife had died he had met and become engaged to another woman. My mother had disliked her immediately. When Arthur married, my mother was not invited to the wedding. They had not spoken to each other for several years. My sister arrived with her youngest daughter and grandson. Even my brother, who had never had much use for any of us, paid a visit.
On that day, at that hour, I awoke with a start, left my chair and quickly walked to my mother’s bedroom. There I saw the Angel leaning over my mother. As I approached he stood up and gave me a slight smile. He spoke in a soft, almost kindly, voice. “Most people go quietly but your mother is quite a fighter. She is ready now.” Seeing my face he reassured me. “Don’t be sad. No more fear, no more pain. You can say goodbye to her if you like.” I walked over to the right side of her bed, kneeled down and spoke to her in a quiet voice. “Everything has been done momma. We will be all right. If you want to you can go now.” She turned her head toward the sound of my voice. It was clear she could no longer see. With an unsteady hand she stroked my cheek. The Angel gently touched her left shoulder and it was done. As I stood up I could see her raise from her bed. Then hand in hand with the Angel she walked with him through the wall of the bedroom and was gone. All that was left was the ruined shell that had been my mother. I called the ambulance service from the telephone on her nightstand, went back to my chair and waited.
Did I see what I saw or was it a dream? Does it really matter?
Comments (9)
durleybeachbum
Marvellous! and, of course, it doesn't matter.
sandra46
SUPERLATIVE TEXT, I'M REALLY IMPRESSED! GREAT WORK!
Faemike55
anyone who does not shed tears at this, well.... Stunning and very moving writing, Mark. No, I guess it really doesn't matter you know it for what it is and in that, it will always be true
hipps13
to you, yes as alwyas it will a memory to smile when the tears come to cry warm hugs, Linda
mariogiannecchini
Bel racconto , molto commovente e reale !Credo che non abbia importanza se reale o no ! POtrebbe esserlo , potrebbe veramente andare così! Beautiful story, very touching and real! I do not think it matters whether real or not! Could be, could go really well!
beachzz
It was real at the moment and your way of saying goodbye. A beautiful piece of writing.
JuliSonne
I do not know what to say. But your story has touched me. You have a very "vivid" and "picture" language and very emotional. Very nice. Thanks!
psyoshida
Yes, I remember this story very well, I'm glad you finished it and so beautifully too. It's a lovely, heart-wrenching story. I wish it were like that. You are such a good writer that you make me believe it 100%.
anahata.c
I was too tired last night to finish the tale, though I knew there was more. For what it's worth, the first part stood perfectly by itself. But the second part is just as moving.
You let instances to for themselves: You tell us of your mother's brother, some bits of their history, and that he came. You don't tell anymore. And, from our perspective, you don't need to. Maybe you will in another tale, maybe you won't; but, for here, it had a whole history wrapped in a few sentences. Their final meeting was left un-described, so we could imagine the rest. It's very powerful. The line up of people who visited your mother---you described each one essentially, then you moved on. In your voice, everything was subsumed in all consuming embrace of your mother's final moments.
Your description of the Angel---now a warm, embracing figure---is just right. And really, he's a part of you now, he's the peace that one felt from the earlier fragment, embodied in that now compassionate figure. He touches the shoulder and there is peace. Even there, you give us the photograph, and we feel the rest. I reiterate, you're a wonderful photographer; so your 'verbal' photograph says a world.
You ended it with a photograph yet again---ie, your mother's final moment, and you waiting for the ambulance. You have to know, your writing is powerful as much for what it doesn't say as for what it does say, here; you trust us and yourself to give the photograph, and hope it will speak the worlds. It does, and it's truly touching...
When my mother was dying, I told her that it was ok if she needed to leave. We could all see she was holding-on in part for us. But when I said that, she immediately pulled back: "Are you trying to get rid of me?" I was dumbstruck. Whatever I said after that didn't do any good. She was hurt and she withdrew, even though she knew how much I loved her, and always did. She would never have suspected me of getting rid of her. She died a few days later, which was longer than we thought she'd last. That moment showed me that, even near death, people are people---ie, unpredictable, scared, defensive, and sometimes just in another world. Had I said that 10 minutes later, she may have felt peace. But I felt I did the right thing. And what you wrote tells me I did. Your mother had your strength. I know you got some of your strength from her, but we do become parents of our parents in the end, and I'm glad she felt your strength (and gave it back in a touch). Beautiful writing, Mark, and just enough. That's a big compliment. A very moving story.
wysiwig
Mark,
You are very kind. My writing comes from inspiration or random memories. My problem is that I have no discipline. Your mother's reaction seemed to me to be the perfect 'Jewish Mother' reaction. If my mother had said, "Are you trying to get rid of me?", she would have meant it humorously. She had a wonderful sense of humor that, unfortunately, she seldom showed to her family.