a serious blog of a hundred-year-old person. puddle - `blog

i think I was nine or so when one day my teacher gave us a homework to conduct an interview with an adult person about his or her job.. i lived in boarding school at that time and my mother would come to visit me sometimes for a few hours. as it happened, she was there at the weekend I had to do the homework. i took it as a very serious matter and kept closely to the teacher’s instructions while interviewing. In my notebook I had a set of questions to ask. the whole conversation sounded quite funny as my mother didn’t actually have any job. well, i should say she had and it was a very serious one.:
- what’s your job?
I’m a housewife.
- what time do you begin your work?
- well, it depends. i get up at seven, something like that.
- Do you commute to your work?
- No. I work at home.
- what exactly does your job involve?
- I make breakwasts, wash dishes, make dinners, do washing-up, clean the house…
- Do you have any kind of lunchbreak during your work? and what time if there’s one?
- well, I can make a break whenever I’m hungry. It’s not all that fixed darling.
- what time do you finish your work?
- about ten. then i go to sleep.
- So how many hours during the day do you work?
That’s the question.

so here she is. always athome, patiently doing dinners, breakwasts, cleaning and feeding our grandma. My grandma is very old: She lies in a clean bed, motionless and speechless with a rather frightening aura of a serious illness surrounding her. I always try to try to overcome my fears, so that i could develop my personality withou obstacles. Sometimes the attempts of overcoming are successful, which is not exactly the case this time. I have the impression that my grandma doesn’t need anyone. I’m sorry however, that most of us don’t pay any attention to her. I’m somehow shamefully not brave enough yet to come directly to her and just talk. Don’t know what to say, I know she wouldn’t answer. She wouldn’t understand even probably what I’d say to her, we don’t know it though. My grandma is very old and lies in a clean bed all day and only God knows how much of this world she can make out. My mother is convinced she can hear all and understand what she speaks to grandma.. I don’t know but I believe she can feel that my mother really cares for her. Anyway, whenever I walk in there I talk to my mother while she’s feeding granny. I remember I came there for the first time. I sat opposite them on a huge comfortable bed and started to think. My granny is very old and, knowing her, I can say she longs to die. Her husband died eighteen years ago. My grandma was always a shy and silent person. She always liked quiet places and sometimes seemed to not need anyone. after her husband’s death she made herself more and more isolated from us. It was very clear she neglected herself and gave up. when we would come from school we used to say:
- How are you? - we would ask
- Quite all right. I’m waiting for death to come. -she’d always response in that way and we’d always reacted with the same words.
- Oh you’re kidding really it’s good to live. - that was our empty answer full of ignorance for her true feelings. For some it is good and beautiful to live and for some, well, at least difficult and it’s better to respect that. My grandma had three children and, for all I know and can see, she didn’t develop any deep relationship with either of them. I don’t know about her relationship with our grandpa, but she must have felt lonely after his death. So i wanted to face with her indefinite pain now. As well as i’m sure she feels my mother sincere care, I can imagine she feels also a kind of grief. That deep inside she’s unhappy although barely consciouss. I listened to my mother’s words:
-one more bite please.Yousee It’s good. you’ll feel better. Now, maybe a drop of tea? now the pill. I know you don’t like it, I know it’s bitter but it’s so small.
a kind of grief. I dont’ think she likes such encouragements to live. I mean, my grandma never really loved life. I knew alll for her was rather a task to do and not a nice adventure to enjoy. so in fact it was not surprising for us to hear about her waiting to die. It was so easy to imagine, so easy that I couldn’t help to imagine her calm voice saying.
- Leave me Celine. don’t bother feeding me. I’m really waiting to die. and i thought all the things my mother said are disturbing for her, that she prefers her silence and yet doesn’t want to be left alone. well, that’s why she’s always wanted to die. to go to the man she was with for so long, to not be alone. I know these are simple doubts. many people are saying the same words. should those people live? should we keep alive those souls trapped in the body? there is no answer. we don’t know how much they suffer. so, I’M thinking. if my little brother suffered, would I take the life away from him? of course not. I’d try to help. so the next thought. but how can you help the old people who cannot speak or move? Yes, but those who speak and move young and older often suffer and noone can help- is my next thought. . despite that I’d feel very sorry any time I’d come up to my granny to feed her. well, life’s in front of me. I don’t now if in twenty years’ time I’d feed my parents in the way my mother does now.
and I’m convinced now I’ll try to prolong their life as long as it’ll be possible. . so, what’s the point of this discussion? I don’t know, but I’m sure there is some or other.