Читать книгу High Tide - Inga Abele - Страница 10

Daughter

In the darkness of midnight, Lūcija turns on the lamp and looks to see if her mother is still breathing. She’s so shriveled. Lūcija is now her mother’s mother.

The mother is her daughter’s little child.

Her mother’s mouth is opened slightly, her eyes closed.

All the witnesses to this horror gleam at her from the dresser top—diapers, sippy-cups, mugs, wet wipes. Creams for rashes and sores. Things for a child. A newborn child. Only this birth is happening backwards—from the light into the darkness.

And then the child becomes strangely still.

Daughter looks at mother. She’d give up everything for her to keep on living. But over the course of their time together all they mostly did was argue.

Daughter looks at mother. Places a hand on her. Her head is still warm, her arm still warm. The last bit of heat.

Leaving is so difficult and drawn-out.

And how this excruciating period of time finally brought them together.