At thirty-five, I believed I would never know the happiness of a woman, but fate had other plans. We came together when we were both nearly forty. John had been a widower for three years then. I had never been married, but I had a son. As the saying goes, I had him for myself. In my youth, I had a relationship with a handsome dark-haired man named Mark, who promised to marry me and charmed the young me. I believed those promises, which turned out to be empty. It later emerged that this suitor from the town was already married.
Mark’s lawful wife even came to me to ask that I not break up another family. Young and inexperienced as I was, I gave in. But I decided to keep the child anyway.
So it was. I gave birth to David. He became my only comfort and joy. David was well brought up and studied hard. After school he went to university to study economics. John visited me a few times. He suggested we live together. I hesitated, though I liked him. I felt ashamed about my son and about finally feeling happy. One evening David decided to talk to me. He said he did not mind: “Mum, I won’t be living at home anyway. John is a reliable man. Just so long as he does not offend you. The main thing is that you are happy.” John’s son was also not against it.
And so we started to live as a couple. We got married and had a small celebration. I worked in the village library, and John was a farmer. We did everything together. We managed the household, kept livestock and worked the garden. We loved and respected one another, though it was a pity God did not give us children of our own.
Both our sons married, and we saw our grandchildren. For every holiday we prepared gifts for the children and grandchildren: fresh eggs, milk, cream, pork and chicken. On holidays many guests gathered in our cottage. Then John and I would sit at the table, content and happy that we had people to celebrate with.
Only in the evenings when the older pair went to bed each would think quietly: to leave this world first so as never to feel lonely.
Years took their toll. One day trouble came… In the morning I felt ill while beginning to cook soup in the kitchen. I fell. John with the neighbours’ help called the ambulance. Doctors said I had had a stroke. All my functions were there except one. I could no longer walk. David and his wife came to visit. He gave some pounds for the medicine and then left.
John hired a car, and when I was discharged from the hospital he and a neighbour carried me into the cottage.
“Everything will be fine,” he comforted me, “just live. You can sit and talk with me. Just live. I will manage it all. Just do not leave me, my dear.”
John cared for me well. After a month I was using a wheelchair. I helped him in the kitchen. We still did things together. We peeled potatoes and carrots, sorted beans. We even baked bread. In the evenings we discussed how to live on. Winter lay ahead. John had no strength left to chop the firewood.
Maybe the children could take us in for the winter, and come spring and summer we could manage…
That weekend David and his wife Jane arrived. Jane looked round the room and said: “We will have to separate you two. We will take Mother next week. I will prepare the room. Then we will come.”
“And what about me?” whispered John awkwardly. “We have never been apart. How can this be, children.”
“Well that was before when you had the strength for the farm and could look after yourselves, but now it is different. Let your son take you. Nobody will take you both.”
David and Jane went home. John and I sighed bitterly and wondered what to do. Each of us falling asleep hoped not to wake so as not to see this.
The next weekend both sons came. They set to packing things. John sat by my bed looking at me, recalling our young years. He cried… He leaned to his sick wife and whispered:
“Forgive me, Susan, that things turned out this way… We must have slipped up in raising the children. They are separating us like unwanted kittens. Forgive me. I love you.”
I wanted to stroke his cheek but lacked the strength. John left wiping his tears with his sleeve. Sitting in the car he did not wipe them any more.
Then David with his wife and the neighbour wrapped me in a blanket and carried me out of the cottage feet first. It struck me as very symbolic. I did not resist. I was gone when John left. The sick woman only wished not to last till evening.
A week passed. On a fine autumn day our dream came true. John and I met in the other world.At thirty-five, I believed I would never know the happiness of a woman, but fate had other plans. We came together when we were both nearly forty. John had been a widower for three years then. I had never been married, but I had a son. As the saying goes, I had him for myself. In my youth, I had a relationship with a handsome dark-haired man named Mark, who promised to marry me and charmed the young me. I believed those promises, which turned out to be empty. It later emerged that this suitor from the town was already married.
Mark’s lawful wife even came to me to ask that I not break up another family. Young and inexperienced as I was, I gave in. But I decided to keep the child anyway.
So it was. I gave birth to David. He became my only comfort and joy. David was well brought up and studied hard. After school he went to university to study economics. John visited me a few times. He suggested we live together. I hesitated, though I liked him. I felt ashamed about my son and about finally feeling happy. One evening David decided to talk to me. He said he did not mind: “Mum, I won’t be living at home anyway. John is a reliable man. Just so long as he does not offend you. The main thing is that you are happy.” John’s son was also not against it.
And so we started to live as a couple. We got married and had a small celebration. I worked in the village library, and John was a farmer. We did everything together. We managed the household, kept livestock and worked the garden. We loved and respected one another, though it was a pity God did not give us children of our own.
Both our sons married, and we saw our grandchildren. For every holiday we prepared gifts for the children and grandchildren: fresh eggs, milk, cream, pork and chicken. On holidays many guests gathered in our cottage. Then John and I would sit at the table, content and happy that we had people to celebrate with.
Only in the evenings when the older pair went to bed each would think quietly: to leave this world first so as never to feel lonely.
Years took their toll. One day trouble came… In the morning I felt ill while beginning to cook soup in the kitchen. I fell. John with the neighbours’ help called the ambulance. Doctors said I had had a stroke. All my functions were there except one. I could no longer walk. David and his wife came to visit. He gave some pounds for the medicine and then left.
John hired a car, and when I was discharged from the hospital he and a neighbour carried me into the cottage.
“Everything will be fine,” he comforted me, “just live. You can sit and talk with me. Just live. I will manage it all. Just do not leave me, my dear.”
John cared for me well. After a month I was using a wheelchair. I helped him in the kitchen. We still did things together. We peeled potatoes and carrots, sorted beans. We even baked bread. In the evenings we discussed how to live on. Winter lay ahead. John had no strength left to chop the firewood.
Maybe the children could take us in for the winter, and come spring and summer we could manage…
That weekend David and his wife Jane arrived. Jane looked round the room and said: “We will have to separate you two. We will take Mother next week. I will prepare the room. Then we will come.”
“And what about me?” whispered John awkwardly. “We have never been apart. How can this be, children.”
“Well that was before when you had the strength for the farm and could look after yourselves, but now it is different. Let your son take you. Nobody will take you both.”
David and Jane went home. John and I sighed bitterly and wondered what to do. Each of us falling asleep hoped not to wake so as not to see this.
The next weekend both sons came. They set to packing things. John sat by my bed looking at me, recalling our young years. He cried… He leaned to his sick wife and whispered:
“Forgive me, Susan, that things turned out this way… We must have slipped up in raising the children. They are separating us like unwanted kittens. Forgive me. I love you.”
I wanted to stroke his cheek but lacked the strength. John left wiping his tears with his sleeve. Sitting in the car he did not wipe them any more.
Then David with his wife and the neighbour wrapped me in a blanket and carried me out of the cottage feet first. It struck me as very symbolic. I did not resist. I was gone when John left. The sick woman only wished not to last till evening.
A week passed. On a fine autumn day our dream came true. John and I met in the other world.
