Dina M Wilks

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Age had begun its cruel collection of Sashu. First it moved to Shashu’s joints; they became swollen and red, making even the simplest task of breaking an egg painful. Then it dimmed her eyes, she could only tell light from dark, the shadows replaced the faces she loved. Her independence was gone. Sashu was forced to leave the house her husband had built; the home she had known most of her life.

Sashu moving into the home of her daughter and grandson, Robert. There, she had only a small room. There was no garden; she could no longer turn the earth and assist God in creating beauty. Her daughter barred her from the kitchen she might forget and start a fire. Her mind was sharp but she could use it for nothing. Daily, she would sit on the patio until her daughter would make he come in because of the heat. Robert would pass her, barely acknowledging her presence.

"Bobya, is that you?" She would ask.

"I’m on my way to meet some friends," he would always answer.

Soon, Sashu moved with a cane then a walker. Finally, her legs could not even lift her from a chair, and Robert had to carry her into her room.

"Bobya, do not leave me in this room," her voice was shaky as she pleaded.

"Grandma, I’ll come to visit," he promised but promises are hard to keep and excuses come easily.

Sashu’s room was at the end of the hall, so she could have quiet. Her daughter would come and check on her, ask her what she wanted to eat that day, and turn her so she would not get sore. Robert would look in the doorway then lower his head and turn away. This continued for several weeks.

One day, Robert’s mom called him into the kitchen.

"Sit down," she said pointing to the chair beside the table. "Sashu is becoming increasingly hard to care for; her lungs are filling with fluid. I don’t think I can care for her properly anymore. I’m going to find her a nursing home."

Robert sat in silence.

"I’m going to tell her tonight," his mother finished.

Robert sat in the livingroom when his mother told Sashu. The room was dark, but he would not turn on any light. He heard a terrible cry, it was Sashu.

"No," the voice was distressed and animal like.

Robert sat in the room, tears flooding his cheeks.

Two days passed and Sashu remained in her bed, refusing to eat and avoiding sleep she lie crumpled, centered in the room which had become her prison Shadows filled the corners of that room while the small brass light stay lit above her head, spotlighting her diminished form. Her head had fallen below the pillows, and she was curled to the side opposite the door.
A shadow filled the doorway and moved around the bed, where Sashu could see.

"Bobya?" Sashu asked.

The figure nodded then responded, "Yes, Sashu it’s Bobya."

His eyes fixed on her face. She wore the mask of the hopeless; her eyes were sunken and dull; her lips drawn downward with the bottom jutting out in a grievous pout.

Bobya searched for words, then blurted "How are you?"

Sashu’s eyes shifted down and to the side; her head slightly shaking.

"Mamma says you won’t sleep. Let me turn out the light; you need your rest."

The dull eyes turned back to him and she reached for his arm, slapping it vigorously.

"No, I won’t," his voice was soothing and respectful. Sashu stretched her body and tried to lift up. Her lungs gurgled as she drew in a breath.