З життя
Переконала сина запропонувати матері продати будинок і переїхати до нас, а потім відправила її в дім для літніх людей.
Леся переконала Віктора запропонувати своїй матері продати будинок, щоб переїхати до них, а потім відправила свекруху у будинок для літніх людей.
Ми довго проживали в однокімнатній, не дуже великій квартирі. Там народився наш син, Іванко. Чоловік працював на двох роботах, щоб зібрати кошти на нову, більшу квартиру. І коли нам майже вдалося зібрати всю суму, а для покупки трикімнатної квартири залишилось небагато, ціни на нерухомість різко підскочили. Одне рішення повністю змінило наше життя.
Я запропонувала чоловікові, щоб його мати продала будинок у селі, переїхала до нас, а ми таким чином отримали б нестачну суму. Віктор поїхав до матері, запропонував їй переїхати і продати будинок. Мати довго думала, вона любила своє просте господарство з котом Борисом, але не могла відмовити синові. Вона погодилася.
Будинок продали, разом з Віктором ми купили квартиру і всі разом святкували новосілля. Бабусі виділили окрему невелику кімнату, Іванко мав свою, а ми – найбільшу. Спочатку все йшло добре.
Я доглядала за свекрухою, а Віктор був задоволений, що мати поруч і під добрим доглядом.
На жаль, через два роки свекруха стала більш вимогливою, все більше хворіла і старіла. Вона також мала проблеми з пам’яттю. Іноді я не могла залишати її вдома саму. Присутність свекрухи почала мене обтяжувати. Вона в усьому знаходила проблеми, постійно мене критикувала.
Поступово я почала обговорювати тему будинку для літніх людей. Здавалося, що люди в похилому віці там живуть добре, їм забезпечено цілодобовий догляд і медичну допомогу. Віктор довго заперечував, його мати теж. Але я не відступила від свого рішення, і зрештою чоловік погодився.
Свекруха довго мовчки слухала наші суперечки, аж поки не сказала, що, якщо так вирішив її син, то вона поїде і житиме в будинку для літніх людей. Ми старанно вибирали найкраще місце. Довго оглядали різні заклади. Нарешті обрали.
За місяць третя кімната у нашій квартирі звільнилася. Віктор частенько відвідував матір, на щастя, це було недалеко, але згодом справи затягувалися, часу на поїздки все менше, і настав момент, коли він зовсім не міг її відвідати.
Два місяці потому Віктор їй не телефонував. Нарешті приїхав до матері і зачаровано зупинився. У кімнаті, де вона мешкала, було так по-іншому. Перед ним сиділа сива, зморщена бабуся з сумними, погаслими очима. У кімнаті була ще одна сусідка, що лежала, накрита ковдрою, з витягнутими вздовж тіла сухими руками з горбатими синіми жилами.
Вікторові стало дуже зле. Він повернувся додому, розповів мені про погіршення стану здоров’я матері. Це не викликало в мене жодної жалості. Я тільки знизала плечима: старість, чого ти хочеш? Його гнітили величезні докори сумління, але я знала, що стан свекрухи буде погіршуватись, що це неминуче.
Під час останнього візиту Віктора до будинку для літніх людей, його мати лежала обличчям до стіни, незалежно від того, скільки він з нею розмовляв, вона не повернулася. Наступну поїздку він запланував на місяць вперед, хотів її забрати на прогулянку. Знав, що це багато часу, але мав напружений період на роботі, закінчував останні важливі угоди і не мав часу поїхати до будинку для літніх людей.
Через три тижні він отримав дзвінок. Повідомили, що його мати померла три години тому. Її стан погіршувався, але вона категорично відмовилася повідомляти сина. Це було її останнє прохання. Вона не хотіла його турбувати, якщо у нього не було для неї місця в своєму домі і серці.
Віктор мовчав, зім’яв папір, що лежав перед ним, вийшов на ганок і сперся спиною об стіну. Біль просто розривав його зсередини, душа нила, здавалося, виверталася назовні. Я не могла йому допомогти. Знаю, що він відчував, що підвів матір. Був похмурим. Пізніше покликав мене до кімнати і сказав, що залишає мене.
Витягнув з шафи валізу, кинув туди свої речі. Я дивилася із здивуванням. – Куди йдеш? Це ж не моя вина, що твоя мати померла, – намагалася виправдовуватися я. Хотіла його зупинити, але він мене відштовхнув.
– Хочу бути подалі від тебе, – сказав крізь стиснуті зуби, підняв валізу і сильно грюкнув дверима.
Віктор ще не розлучився зі мною, але категорично не хоче мене бачити. Він найняв маленьку квартиру, працює, зустрічається з нашим сином. Від сина я знаю, що щотижня Віктор відвідує могилу матері, благаючи про прощення. Він не може пробачити собі, що я намовила його віддати матір до будинку для літніх людей, а собі – що він на це погодився. Я не знаю, як його повернути.
Michael Froze: From Behind the Tree, a Dog He’d Recognise Anywhere Watched Him with Sad, Knowing Eyes
I frozepeering from behind an old oak tree, a dog watched me with a sadness Id have recognised anywhere. Dust...
DO I REMEMBER? I CAN’T FORGET! “Polly, listen… Remember my illegitimate daughter, Anastasia?” My husband spoke in riddles, making me uneasy. “Do I remember? I can’t forget! Why?” I sat down, bracing for bad news. “Well… Anastasia is begging us to take in her daughter—my granddaughter,” he mumbled. “And why on earth should we, Alex? Where’s Anastasia’s husband? Disappeared into thin air?” I was intrigued. “The thing is, Anastasia doesn’t have much time left. She never had a husband. Her mother remarried and lives in America. They’re estranged, and she has no other family. That’s why she’s asking…” Alex couldn’t meet my eyes. “So, what’s your plan?” I had already decided. “Well, I’m asking you, Polly. Whatever you say, that’s what we’ll do,” he finally looked at me. “How convenient. You made mistakes in your youth, and now I’m to shoulder the burden of a stranger’s child? Isn’t that right?” My husband’s feebleness made me furious. “Polly, we’re a family. We should decide together,” Alex pushed back. “Oh, you remembered now! Yet, when you fooled around, did you consult me? I’m your wife!” Tears welled up and I stormed out… In school, I dated a boy named Peter, until a new boy, Alex, arrived and swept me off my feet. I broke up with Peter. Alex noticed me, walked me home, kissed my cheek, and picked flowers for me. A week later, he led me to his bed. I didn’t protest—I fell head over heels for Alex. After we graduated, he went off to serve in the army in another city. We wrote to each other for a year. Then Alex returned on leave. I was overjoyed. He promised we’d marry when he came back for good—already considered me his wife. His sweet words melted me every time, even years later: one loving look from Alex, and I’d melt like chocolate in the sun. Alex went back to the army. I waited, confident I was a betrothed bride. Six months later, a letter arrived: Alex had found “real love” in his garrison town and wasn’t coming back. But I was already carrying Alex’s baby. So much for a wedding—just as my gran warned me. When the time came, I gave birth to my son, Ivan. Peter, my old boyfriend, stepped in to help. Desperate, I accepted. Yes, Peter and I became intimate. I’d long given up hope of seeing Alex again. Then he turned up, surprised to see Peter there. “Can I come in?” Alex asked. “Come on in, since you’re here,” Peter reluctantly allowed. Sensing the tension, Ivan clung to Peter, wailing. “Peter, why don’t you take Ivan for a walk?” I was at a loss. When they left, Alex asked, “Is he your husband?” “What’s it to you? Why are you here?” I was angry and confused. “I missed you. I see you’ve made a life with Peter—you didn’t wait for me. Well, I’ll go—sorry to intrude on your happy family,” he said, heading for the door. “Wait, Alex. Why have you come—just to hurt me? Peter helps me cope with loneliness. He’s been raising your two-year-old son, by the way,” I tried to keep him there. My love for him hadn’t died. “I’ve come back for you, Polly. Will you have me?” Alex asked, hope in his voice. “Come in, dinner’s ready,” my heart leapt—he came back, so he hadn’t forgotten. Why resist? Peter was shoved aside. My Ivan needed his real father. Later, Peter married a lovely woman with two children. A few years passed. Alex could never love Ivan as his own—he was convinced Ivan was Peter’s son. Alex never really cared for Ivan. He always had an eye for the ladies. He was forever chasing after women, easily smitten, just as easily moving on—including some of my own friends. I cried but kept loving him, determined to hold my family together. It was easier for me than for him—the one who loves is always blinded by hope. I never needed to lie or invent excuses; I just loved him. He was my sun. Sometimes I wanted to leave, but then I’d scold myself: Where would I go, who could compare? Besides, Alex would be lost without me. I was wife, lover, and mother to him. Alex lost his own mother at fourteen—she died in her sleep. Maybe that’s why he always looked for lost affection elsewhere. I forgave everything. Once, after a bitter argument, I threw him out. He moved in with his relatives. Months passed—I forgot why we argued—but he didn’t return. At last, I went to his family’s house. His aunt was surprised to see me. “Polly, why do you want Alex? He said you’d divorced—he has a new girlfriend now.” I found out where she lived and paid them a visit. “Hello! Could I see Alex, please?” I asked politely. She just smirked and slammed the door in my face. I left in silence. A year later, Alex came back. By then the girl had given birth to his daughter, Anastasia. To this day, I blame myself for throwing him out—maybe that girl wouldn’t have scooped him up otherwise. I tried harder to please and adore Alex. We never talked about his illegitimate daughter. It seemed if we did, our family would fall apart. We let sleeping dogs lie. After all, what’s one stray child? It happens. I blamed the “temptresses” instead. In time, Alex settled down. Flings ended. He stayed home watching TV. Our son married early, gave us three grandkids. Then, out of nowhere… Anastasia, Alex’s daughter from long ago, reappeared—asking us to take in her daughter. How would I explain a new little girl to Ivan? He never knew about his father’s youthful escapades. In the end, we took legal guardianship of five-year-old Alina. Anastasia passed away, gone at thirty. Graves grow over with grass, but life goes on. Alex spoke to Ivan man-to-man. After hearing his father’s confession, Ivan said, “What’s done is done, you don’t answer to me. But the girl should stay—she’s family.” Alex and I breathed easier. We’d raised a kind son. Now, Alina is sixteen. She adores her Grandpa Alex, whispers secrets to him, calls me Granny, and says she’s my spitting image at her age. I never argue…
DO I REMEMBER? I COULD NEVER FORGET! Polly, darling, theres something I must tell you Well, do you recall my...
Winter had blanketed Andrew’s garden with soft snow, but his loyal dog Duke, a massive German Shepherd, was acting strangely. Instead of curling up in the large kennel Andrew had lovingly built for him last summer, Duke stubbornly insisted on sleeping outside, right in the snow. Watching from his window, Andrew felt a pang of worry—Duke had never behaved like this before. Each morning, as he stepped outside, Andrew noticed Duke watching him tensely. Whenever he approached the kennel, Duke positioned himself between Andrew and the entrance, growling softly and looking at him pleadingly, as if to say: “Please, don’t go in there.” This odd behaviour was so out of character for their years of friendship, it made Andrew uneasy—what was his best friend hiding? Determined to get to the bottom of it, Andrew came up with a plan—he lured Duke into the kitchen with a tempting piece of steak. While the dog, locked inside, barked desperately at the window, Andrew crept towards the kennel and crouched down to peer inside. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw something that froze him on the spot… …There, curled up in a blanket, was a tiny kitten—dirty, freezing, and barely breathing. Its eyes barely opened, and its frail body shivered with cold. Duke had found it somewhere, and instead of chasing it away or leaving it to its fate, he had sheltered it. He had slept outside to avoid scaring it and guarded the entrance as if there was treasure inside. Andrew held his breath. He reached out, gently lifted the tiny creature and pressed it to his chest. In that moment, Duke raced over and nestled beside his shoulder—not growling, but gently, eager to help. “You’re a good dog, Duke…” Andrew whispered, clutching the kitten. “Better than most people.” From that day on, there were no longer just two friends living in the garden, but three. And the lovingly built kennel found its purpose again—as a little home for souls in need of saving.
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