Member-only story

Eunice

Andrea Pronk
4 min readApr 13, 2022

Letting Go of Your Mother

storm clouds looming over a solitary windmill in a field
Photo by Raychel Sanner on Unsplash

“All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does, and that is his.”
Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

“How are you?” I asked.

“Oh, fine, fine,” she said. Then: “Old. Old and brittle. Too old,” grimacing.

Though a screen cannot compare to personal contact, I could tell something had changed. There was something in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. A quiet despair. Just for a moment, then it was gone.

I recognized my mother again, with her — often inappropriate — flippant way.

“Well, it comes to us all, right?” she shrugged, “What can you do?”

I nodded, unsure what to say when she added: “I want to talk to you about euthanasia.”

For a moment, I felt winded.

Outside, the wind picked up.

I like to think I listened. Nodded at the right moments. Registered the message. Took it seriously. And felt relief when she said: “Not yet.”

“You will tell me, right?” I asked, “When you feel the time has come? You know I’ll be there.”

“And sit at my bedside for two weeks watching me die?” she scoffed. “You really don’t have to.”

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Andrea Pronk
Andrea Pronk

Written by Andrea Pronk

Writer and editor with an inquisitive mind, an outwritten opinion and her Heart in the Write Place writes about writing, the creative process and (The) Change.

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