З життя
Перед операцією він знайшов спокій завдяки її підтримці.
Він йшов на операцію, а вона кілька днів до цього заспокоювала його. Планова операція, вже дуже потрібно зробити, нічого страшного, це лише кілька годин, такі операції давно стали рутинними, у нього гарні аналізи, міцне серце… Вона повторювала те саме, мов заведена. Він посміхався, гладив її руку і мовчав. Їй здавалося, що він її не чує, що все це вона розповідає собі, намагаючись себе заспокоїти.
Так воно і було. Він слухав її, але не чув. Просто дивився, як вона рухається по квартирі. Як накриває на стіл. Як п’є каву, яку він дбайливо зварив до сніданку. Як хмуриться і хвилюється. Як сто разів перебирає в пакеті його речі для лікарні. Як нагадує подзвонити сестрі в далеку країну.
Вони вже давно жили лише удвох. Половину того життя, яке прожили з батьками, сином, онуками. Батьків похова́ли, синові купили квартиру. Залишилися удвох і по вихідних накривали столи, як раніше, запрошували друзів. Влітку їздили у відпустку. І завжди ходили тримаючись за руки.
Вони перейшли шістдесятирічний рубіж, але рук так і не розімкнули.
Вони були настільки одне ціле, що навіть імена не мало сенсу вимовляти окремо.
Що вони пережили, довго розповідати. Все було. Вона з дитячого будинку. Але раптом, коли виросла її дитина, знайшлася мати. Хвора, залишена напризволяще, нікому не потрібна. Вона, не роздумуючи, взяла її до себе. У свою тісну міську квартиру. Практично всі крутили пальцем біля скроні. Мати залишила її в зовсім малому віці. І ніколи в житті не згадувала про те, що у неї є дочка. Вона дійсно не розуміла, чого від неї хочуть? Щоб вона покинула матір? Так само, як мати покинула її? Але їй було боляче, всі ті роки було дуже боляче! Вона не хотіла, щоб так було з матір’ю…
Мати доглядали разом з чоловіком. Вона пролежала кілька років, останні два роки втратила розум. Але вони не скаржилися, мовчки доглядали, годували, поїли, змінювали підгузки і постіль, лікували…
Власне, вона могла все. Коли він був поруч. І нічого її не лякало. Коли він був поруч.
На операцію вона його провела. І сиділа під дверима. Чекала. Операція простенька, але все одно багато хвилювань. Він ніколи серйозно не хворів. І їй було трохи дивно сидіти і чекати закінчення його операції.
Автоматично сунула руку в сумочку, намацала конверт. Здивувалася, здавалося, у неї не повинно бути конвертів у сумочці. Витягнула. Ще більший подив — лист від нього. Коли встиг написати? Коли встиг покласти у сумочку? Вони ж бо ні на мить не розлучалися, вона б помітила.
Прочитала. Дуже дивний лист. Він начебто прощався. Вона сиділа, боячись поворухнутися. Вона все зрозуміла. Ще до того, як лікарі вийшли з операційної.
Простенької операції він не витримав. Зупинилося серце. Те саме, начебто міцне і ніколи не боліле.
А потім, після похорону, валеріани, пустки, нечуваного болю, вона витягнула з шафи свою кофту і намацала у кишені записку. Це була кумедна записка. Від нього. Потемніло в очах. Залізла у іншу кишеню зимового пальта. І там записка. З пририсованою кумедною пикою.
У неї в квартирі виявився мільйон цих його записок. Написаних до зупинки серця на операційному столі. І знайдених нею після його похорону.
Спочатку вона плакала, не могла читати, фізично боляче було навіть дивитися на його почерк…
Потім почала читати. Він жартував, підбадьорював, запитував, припускав, шкодував, любив… Він був живим і попереднім у тих записках.
І, дивлячись мені в очі, вона раптово каже: — Розумієш, мені навіть соромно зізнатися в тому, що я тобі скажу. Соромно, коли навколо багато горя і багато проблем, коли начебто так і не буває, всі один на одного скаржаться… Розумієш, я була дуже щаслива як жінка. Дуже. Я не можу про це розповісти. Але я була дуже щаслива.
І десять років, щовечора, вона перечитувала його записочки. Ті, які знайшла в квартирі ще довгий час. Ті, які їй тоді допомогли не зійти з розуму. Ті, які продовжують зберігати його тепло. І його любов.
Don’t Leave, Mum: An English Family Story
Common wisdom says you cant judge a book by its cover. But Barbara Smith thought that was nonsenseshe was sure...
A Grandson’s Request: An Uplifting Story of Trust, Family, and a Grandmother’s Unwavering Support
Request from my Grandson Gran, I need a favour. I really need some money. A lot. He came to me...
She Was Never Truly Alone: An Ordinary London Morning with Grandma Violet, Filly the Cat, and Loyal Gav the Dog
She Was Never Alone. A Simple Story A slow winter morning dawned over London. Out in the communal courtyard, caretakers...
No One Left to Talk To: A Story “Mum, what are you saying? How can you say you’ve got no one to talk to? I call you twice a day,” her daughter asked wearily. “No, sweetheart, that’s not what I meant,” Nina Anderson sighed sadly. “I just don’t have any friends or acquaintances left who are my age. From my time.” “Mum, don’t talk nonsense. You still have your school friend Irene. And honestly, you’re so modern and you look much younger than you are. Oh, Mum, what’s wrong?” her daughter fretted. “You know Irene has asthma; when she talks on the phone she starts coughing. And she lives all the way on the other side of the city. There were three of us friends, remember I told you? But Mary’s been gone for a long time. Yesterday, Tanya from the flat next door popped in. I made her a cuppa—she’s a lovely woman, often drops by. She even brought over some buns she’d baked for her family. She told me about her children and grandchildren. She’s got grandchildren, even though she’s about fifteen years younger than me. But her childhood, her memories—they’re so different from mine. I just long for a chat with peers, people like me,” Nina Anderson explained, though she realised perfectly well that her daughter wouldn’t understand. She was still young. Her time wasn’t gone—it was just outside the window. She didn’t yet yearn for memories. Sveta was wonderful and caring; it wasn’t about her. “Mum, I got us tickets for a night of classic ballads on Tuesday. Remember you wanted to go? No more sulking—put on your burgundy dress, you look stunning in it!” “All right, darling, everything’s fine. I don’t know what came over me, good night, we’ll speak tomorrow. Go to bed early—you hardly get any sleep,” Nina changed the subject. “Yes, Mum, goodnight. Bye,” and Svetlana hung up. Nina Anderson gazed silently at the glittering evening lights outside… Year Eleven, also spring. So many plans. It seemed so recent. Her friend Irene fancied Simon Mallory from their class. But Simon liked Nina. He’d call her every evening, invite her out. But Nina thought of him as just a friend—why raise his hopes? Later Simon left for the army. He came back, married, lived in Irene’s old house. Back then everyone had a landline. The number… Nina Anderson dialled the number from memory. The tone didn’t come at once—then someone picked up, there was rustling and then a quiet man’s voice: “Hello, I’m listening.” Maybe it’s too late? Why did I call? Maybe Simon doesn’t even remember me, or maybe it’s not him at all! “Good evening,” Nina’s voice rasped a little with nerves. There was more static on the line, then suddenly she heard an astonished voice: “Nina? Is that really you? Of course it is. I’d know your voice anywhere. How did you find me? I’m only here by chance….” “Simon, you recognised me!” A wave of joyful memories swept over Nina Anderson. No one had called her by her name for ages—just “mum”, “granny”, or “Mrs Anderson”. Well, except Irene. But just “Nina” sounded so wonderful, so fresh—as if the years hadn’t passed at all. “Nina, how are you? I’m so glad to hear from you.” Those words made her ridiculously happy. She’d feared he wouldn’t recognise her, or her call would be out of place. “Do you remember Year Eleven? When Simon and Victor took you and Irene out in that rowing boat? He’d blistered his hands on the oars and tried to hide it. Then we ate ice cream on the riverside while the music played,” Simon’s voice was soft and wistful. “Of course I remember!” Nina laughed joyfully, “And that class camping trip? We couldn’t get the tins open, we were so hungry!” “Oh yes,” Simon chuckled, “Then Victor opened them and we sang songs by the campfire. Do you remember? After that, I decided to learn the guitar.” “And did you?” Nina’s voice rang with youthful delight at all these shared memories. It was like Simon was reviving their happy past, recalling detail after detail. “So, how are things now?” Simon asked, but immediately answered himself, “Actually, I can tell from your voice you’re happy. Children, grandchildren? You still writing poems? I remember: ‘To dissolve into the night and be reborn by morning!’ So full of hope! You always were like sunshine, Nina! You bring warmth to everyone, no one could be cold around you. Your family’s so lucky—to have a mum and granny like you is pure gold.” “Oh, come off it, Simon, I’m long past that. My time’s over, I—” He interrupted. “Come on, you give out so much energy I think my phone’s about to melt! Just kidding. I don’t believe you’ve lost your zest for life—not a bit. That means your time isn’t over yet, Nina. So live—and be happy. The sun shines for you. And the breeze chases clouds across the sky for you. And the birds sing for you!” “Simon, you’re still such a romantic. What about you? I’m going on and on about myself…” But suddenly there was a crackle and the call cut out. Nina sat there, phone in hand. She wanted to ring back, but it was late—better not. Another time. What a wonderful chat they’d had—so many memories! The sudden ringtone made Nina jump. Her granddaughter. “Yes, Daisy, hello, I’m still up. What did Mum say? No, my mood’s fine. I’m going to a concert with Mum. Are you coming over tomorrow? Wonderful, see you then. Bye.” In an unexpectedly good mood, Nina Anderson went to bed, head full of plans. As she drifted off, she found herself composing lines for a new poem… In the morning, Nina decided to visit Irene. Just a few stops on the tram—she wasn’t a creaky old nag yet. Irene was delighted: “At last! You’ve been promising for ages. Ooh, is that an apricot tart? My favourite! Well, spill, what’s brought this on?” Irene coughed, pressing her hand to her chest, then waved Nina’s concern away. “It’s all right, new inhaler—I’m better. Come on, let’s have tea. Nina, you look younger somehow—come on, tell me!” “I don’t know—my fifth youth!” Nina laughed as she sliced the tart. “Yesterday I rang Simon Mallory by accident… remember your crush in Year Eleven? We got to reminiscing—I’d forgotten half of it. What’s up, Irene? Not another asthma attack?” Irene sat pale and silent, then whispered: “Nina, you didn’t know? Simon passed away a year ago. He lived in another part of town—he moved from that old place ages ago.” “You must be joking! How? Who was I talking to? He remembered everything about our school days. My mood was terrible before talking to him. But after we spoke, I felt life was carrying on—that I still had strength, and joy for living… How could it be?” Nina couldn’t believe Simon was gone. “But I heard his voice. He said such beautiful things: ‘The sun shines for you. And the breeze chases clouds across the sky for you. And the birds sing for you!’” Irene shook her head, sceptical of her friend’s story. Then she surprised Nina by saying: “Nina, I don’t know how, but it really does sound like it was him. His words, his style. Simon loved you. I think he wanted to support you… from the other side. And it looks like he did. I haven’t seen you so happy and full of energy for ages. One day, someone will piece your tattered heart back together. And you’ll finally remember—what it feels like to be… simply happy.”
No one to even have a chat with. A Reminiscence “Mother, honestly, what are you talking about? How can you...
I Will Always Be With You, Mum: A True-to-Life Story of Love, Loss, and Miracles in an English Village
I shall always be with you, Mother. A story one could believe in Grandma Dorothy could hardly wait for the...
My Daughter-in-Law’s Phone Ringtone Made Me Rethink Helping My Son’s Young Family Find a Home
The ringtone on my daughter-in-laws phone made me reconsider helping the young family find a flat I live alone in...
The Dearest of Kin: A Heartwarming Tale of Three Generations, Grandchildren’s Laughter, and Family Bonds in the Smith Household
Funny how life turns out, isnt it? Things could have so easily gone differently. Our neighbour is always amazed at...
“You’re Not a Wife, You’re a Servant—And You Don’t Even Have Children! An English Mother-in-Law’s Relentless Criticism Unites Her Son and His Wife During a Turbulent Home Renovation”
Youre not a wife, youre just a servant. You havent even had any children! Mum, Eleanor is going to stay...