The Story of One Morning — The Last Conversation

Still and Stoic

Standing at the threshold of the house, he could see her sitting on the bed right next to the door, outside which there was the bright light of the morning.

The room at the entrance almost felt like a tunnel, for it lacked any windows. From there, she appeared still and stoic, her human form reduced to an outline against the shining light.

“We haven’t met for a long time. Will she be able to recognize me?”, he wondered.

The Meeting

As he walked the distance and stood close to her, he first saw the plate with leftover breakfast and then the unwashed hand resting on the edge of her knee, with her eyes fixed on the room opposite that had many photos of various Gods.

He stood there quietly until she realized his presence and turned towards him, slowly and with a lot of effort.

“It’s me Grandmother”, he almost said.

But there was no need for it.

“Haa, when did you come?”, she asked.

The Changes and The Embracing Hands

She still looked tired but the lines on her face changed their shape, revealing the beautiful smile that’s reserved only for those of her age.

Her eyes which still struggled to stay focused looked a little more eager. And her voice, even though it quivered, had no problem with showing the same affection from her younger days.

Before he responded, his hand reached out to hers and they embraced. Her hand held his just so slightly, but he could still feel the wrinkles on it. But the touch was no short of affection.

The minutes that followed were lost in the words exchanged — a little bit of catching up, inquiries and wishes.

The Dreadful News

All of that was a recollection, the rolling back of time to that one morning when he met her for the last time and reliving it a few times after the dreadful news had found him.

When people leave their last breaths, their presence is crushed down to memories. Everyone thinks about them and remembers them. That’s what makes death the ultimate recognition of your existence.

The first such acknowledgment that you have been here after you have actually left.

The first few minutes that follow the dreadful news are also unlike any other. You are fully in the moment thinking of the one, with the memories shared with them reeling past your mind one after the other as you desperately search for a way to hold yourself.

So that was the story of that morning,

That morning when the bright light shone outside,

When Her wrinkled hand embraced his,

And when they exchanged words,

Without knowing it would be their last.

The Quiet End

The end usually comes without announcements and warnings. And any conversation between any two could be their last.

This, between us, not being an exception..

But it’s likely we will talk again,

Until the day comes and takes us apart.

Or as Fernando Pessoa has beautifully said it,

“I see life as a roadside inn where I have to stay until the coach from the abyss pulls up..”