Get yourself pregnant as soon as you can, croaked Aunt Margaret, sliding her legs off the bed.
She was in her eightyseventh year, and the thought of childbearing was a distant memory, but her grandson and greatgrandson kept urging her, tapping her with a cane now and then.
Otherwise youll be left with a blue stocking and reminiscing about old age, and itll be too late, they warned.
Now Margaret grew gloomy, refused to rise, and scolded everyone at home for making a fuss, you lot, so I can sleep past noon, while the kitchen pots clanged at half past six.
The family grew wary.
Grandma, asked her fiveyearold greatgranddaughter Ethel, why dont you cuss at us any more?
Because Im about to die, love, thats all, Margaret sighed, halfheartedly, as if the prospect of death brought either sorrow for the life slipping away or a hope for something beyond the stew theyd all forgotten how to make.
Ethel bolted to the kitchen where the rest of the clan lingered.
Grandma Margarets groundhog is dead! she announced, delivering the latest from the covert reconnaissance.
What groundhog? asked the family head, also Margarets eldest son, Victor Edward Bennett, raising his bushy eyebrows.
He looked as if hed stepped out of a folk tale, the sort where the wind roams the streets.
Probably an old one, Ethel shrugged.
She hadnt even seen the creature; Margaret never showed it to her.
The elders exchanged glances.
The next day a composed doctor paid a visit.
It seems your grandmother isnt feeling well, he diagnosed.
Obviously, Victor slapped his thighs, otherwise wed have called you!
The doctor looked first at him, then at his wife.
Its agerelated, he replied bluntly. I dont see any serious abnormalities. What are the symptoms?
Shes stopped telling me when lunch and dinner are ready! All her life she poked me with her nose, saying my hands werent meant for cooking, and now she wont even step into the kitchen, Victors wife, Mary, said in a fallen voice, herself already feeling like an old woman.
At the familywide council with the doctor they agreed it was a worrying sign.
Exhausted by worry they lay down to sleep as if they might sink away.
That night Victor awoke to the familiar shuffling of slippers.
But this time it wasnt the urgent demand to jump up, eat, and get to work.
Mum? he whispered in the hallway.
A casual murmur answered from the darkness.
Whats up? he asked.
I think Ill slip out for a date with Michael Jacobson while youre all asleep, the voice hinted, as if Grandma were finally pulling herself together. I need the loowhere else?
Victor flicked on the kitchen light, boiled the kettle, and sat at the table, clasping his head.
Starving? the grandmother asked from the hallway, eyes fixed on him.
Yes, Ive been waiting for you. What was that, Mum?
Margaret shuffled to the table.
Its the fifth day Ive been stuck in my room, she began, when a pigeon smashed into the windowbang! I thought it was a death omen. I lay down and waited. Day after day I waited, and this morning I woke up in the middle of the night wondering, Wouldnt that omen be better off wandering the moor, letting me live my life under the covers? Bring me tea, stronger and hotter, please. Weve barely spoken these three days, son, well catch up.
Victor finally drifted off around half past five in the morning, while Margaret stayed in the kitchen, determined to make breakfast herselfno one else would be able to feed the children properly if she didnt.
In the quiet that followed, the family understood that time with the elderly is fleeting; they must listen, help, and cherish each moment before the inevitable silence settles.
