If Mama Could Speak
by Michael C. Keith
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: None.
Description: Last words are not always expressed.
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Am I invisible? Am I inaudible? Do I merely festoon
The room with my presence? – Christopher Fry
A person’s dying time should be hers exclusively. You go your whole life having to share the spotlight with other folks, so I think when you’re close to leaving this world behind you should be the focus of attention. That’s the way I look at it, anyway, and I don’t think I’m being selfish either.
If I could speak, I’d tell everyone in the room to shut up about things that have nothing to do with me . . . or my present situation. I’ve earned their undivided interest and sympathy after all the years caring for them. But I can’t talk because of the tubes running down my throat, and that’s why I’m feeling kind of angry as I lay here on my death bed.
At a solemn time like this, you’d figure that people, especially family, would want to say things to you instead of chattering with each other. I’m the one who’s running out of time and won’t be around to talk with much longer.
My eyes are open, so they know I can hear them, for Heaven’s sake. When I’m about to take my last breath, why would they think that I’d care about the weather or the stock market or what restaurant they’re going to after they leave?
They come in and say hello to me with their sad eyes, and after a couple of minutes forget that I’m here. The nearly dead are no more relevant to the living than the completely dead. Guess they think because I’m about to pass that I don’t care about anything. Well, I do, damn it.
Now here’s what I’d say if I could get the words out. You’re my family and I love you, but you’re really a bunch of . . .
“Mama? . . . Mama? Oh, Lord, I think she’s . . .”
Swearwords: None.
Description: Last words are not always expressed.
_____________________________________________________________________
Am I invisible? Am I inaudible? Do I merely festoon
The room with my presence? – Christopher Fry
A person’s dying time should be hers exclusively. You go your whole life having to share the spotlight with other folks, so I think when you’re close to leaving this world behind you should be the focus of attention. That’s the way I look at it, anyway, and I don’t think I’m being selfish either.
If I could speak, I’d tell everyone in the room to shut up about things that have nothing to do with me . . . or my present situation. I’ve earned their undivided interest and sympathy after all the years caring for them. But I can’t talk because of the tubes running down my throat, and that’s why I’m feeling kind of angry as I lay here on my death bed.
At a solemn time like this, you’d figure that people, especially family, would want to say things to you instead of chattering with each other. I’m the one who’s running out of time and won’t be around to talk with much longer.
My eyes are open, so they know I can hear them, for Heaven’s sake. When I’m about to take my last breath, why would they think that I’d care about the weather or the stock market or what restaurant they’re going to after they leave?
They come in and say hello to me with their sad eyes, and after a couple of minutes forget that I’m here. The nearly dead are no more relevant to the living than the completely dead. Guess they think because I’m about to pass that I don’t care about anything. Well, I do, damn it.
Now here’s what I’d say if I could get the words out. You’re my family and I love you, but you’re really a bunch of . . .
“Mama? . . . Mama? Oh, Lord, I think she’s . . .”
About the Author
Originally from Albany, New York, Michael C. Keith has paternal family roots stretching back to Clan Keith of Caithness and Aberdeenshire. A leading scholar in electronic media in the United States, he is the author of over 20 books on electronic media, as well as a memoir and three books of fiction. Much more about Michael and his publications can be found on his website: http://www.michaelckeith.com