This is my micro-fiction story based on a painting by Lisa Rae Winant for my Media Writing class
My husband died four years ago. I don’t like to talk about it much, but I sure do wish he were still here. He was the outspoken one, always taking care of the rest of the family as much as he could. I was quiet and went along with whatever. I’ve never been very talkative or involved as much as he was, but I promised him I would take over his role while he sat there in the hospital bed, moments before his last breath.
I still live in the house he built and would never let me sell. It is my responsibility to maintain the four-bedroom house, the garden in the backyard, as well as our four cats and two huskies. These are stressful tasks for a 70 year old with Scoliosis and Arthritis, but I do it anyway because that is what he would want.
On top of it all, our family who has been dependent on my husband for so long has now shifted to me. I am the one to take care of my 15-month-old great grandson on weeknights while my granddaughter can finish night school because she is a single mother and broke. I am the one to pay my 44-year-old son’s phone and cable bills because he can’t keep a job to pay for anything other than rent. He can’t hold a job. I should invite him to move in with me although I wouldn’t be able to take the partying. 44 years old and has accomplished nothing. Maybe I should have been a more involved mother. My husband never saw a problem helping everyone out, and has engrained the same opinion in my mind.
Yesterday, my daughter and her third husband came over and told me they needed money because they both lost their jobs at the same chain restaurant. I barely had any money for myself. There was a chest under my bed with emergency money in it, so I decided to tap into it because my husband would believe that this sure was an emergency. I took out the $200 I had, and gave it to them. I didn’t tell them that was the only money I had left.
My family expects me to jump through hoops for them. Although it is stressful and taking its toll on me, it is something I have to do. I will do this for as long as I can until I run myself into the ground alongside my dead husband.
Good job creating an image in my head. The story even sound realistic
ReplyDeleteI agree with Franko; nice imagery. I would add that it hits home as I think about my grandparents, who helped my family stay together for so long a stretch. They are gone now, and most of the family just scattered. Sad really, but sometimes that's how it goes with family when elders pass. We have a reunion coming up soon. We shall see how it goes, as I hope it binds us again... Thanks for sparking my memories!
ReplyDeleteAs I was reading this, I didn't see that this was your micro-fiction piece. Yeah, needless to say I am not one of those people that read directions first either. Anyways, when I jumped into the story, I thought you were writing this about yourself. Now, that I know this isn't a nonfiction piece I feel more at ease. :) Great job on the piece!
ReplyDeletegreat job on the microfic Morgan! it totally painted a pic and seemed realistic.
ReplyDeleteWow, I really liked this, Morgan. It sounds like the beginning of a novel about a womans life. I love the last line, especially.
ReplyDeleteI have 23 years to get my life together after reading about your 44 year old character. I felt sorry for myself reading this because my mom helps me with the bills, but whatever, I'm only 21. I can only focuse on one thing right now lol. Nice story.
ReplyDeleteThis story reminds me of my mother. She always goes above and beyond for everybody but herself. Everything she does is for other people.
ReplyDelete…
ReplyDelete