The Last Gift -short story

With the children and school and husband at work, Ria sits by the window enjoying the sunlight. This is something she does for herself. Its her time to Bask, like a seal on a rock, doing nothing. For the next thirty minutes or so, she will not move from her chair except for sipping her coffee.

She wonders if she should let her husband and family know what the doctor has said. Dr. Gupta was surprised that Ria took the news so well. She was quiet for a moment after she had heard the prognosis and asked "How much time do I have?". "About 9 months" Dr. Gupta said. "Exactly the amount of time to prepare for one life, guess thats a good amount of time to prepare for one death" She thought silently.

Her thoughts go to the time her grandmother was ill and in the hospital. What did grandmother feel? Was she in pain? Did she want to die? Did she will herself to live? Did she blame God for the pain? She remembered being 14, sitting by her grandmom's bed. There was only steady breathing that she had heard. Once in a while she heard grandmom groan in her sleep, its the only times she heard anything akin to complain. Her grandmom had passed peacefully after having a really good day. On that day, all her children, grandchildren and her childhood friend had come to meet her during the day. She was so upbeat and smiling, like as if she had beat the cancer and the pain had been less. That evening after all had left for the night, she passed away in her sleep. It was like dying was a job she wanted to do alone, without anyone seeing her do it.

Ria wonders if she is like her grandmom, does everyone feel the same way when they die? Do we fight against dying or would we just accept it? Does it matter either way, fight or accept? After all Die, we will, no matter what. Shes always been curious about death. Death is such an unbiased thing. It arrives at our doors once life is done, never asking whether you lived well, healthy, wealthy or poor. Nothing that you did or said or felt or experienced is going to make any difference to death. After a while nothing about you really matters to those you left behind, except for memories.

Her husband was someone who spoke very little. Their conversations were mostly about what needs to be done or about the kids and other kind of formalities. In the begining, she had such grandiose ideas about Marriage and Husband and How families are supposed to be. But 5 years into the marriage, her ideas succumbed to the reality of life. She learned that Nothing really happens like the stories in the Romance Novels. She became a silent spectator of her own life, watched the death of her Ideas of life as she put them on the pyre one by one. Life was tough and she got used to it. "Whats the use of complaining?" thought Ria, "Either I should do something about it or I should learn to accept what is". She chose the path of least resistence, Acceptance. Now she wonders, would he miss her when she dies? If he did, would he tell anyone?

Two years into the marriage, the kids came and the chores increased. She watched the kids, their chatter, their loving arms, their silly stories, their laughter, she let them be for the most part. Disciplining them fell to her list of things to do, and so she did it. She smiled at the memory of defiance from the kids and then compliance. She hoped they would some day look back and say "I am glad mom did what she did". She wouldnt be there to hear it, would she now? Memories are funny things, they pop up without warning, they can make a perfect smile, tearful or a tearful face, break into a smile. Memories understand Irony perfectly. Leaving my children, thats more painful than dying, she thinks.

She wonders why she isnt raving and ranting at the prospect of dying. Why she doesnt feel very sad about it? But she isnt happy about it either. Is this what impeding death feels like? Total Numbness? Is something wrong with me? I am 40 years old, I should be living at least until 60, she thinks, yet I am not miffed at the loss of 20 years? She says to herself - I have done what needs doing until now and I only know that things need to get done before I go...Somehow along the path of life, she Understood Life to be Duty. Everything has a duty, the sun has to rise and set to bring in day and night, the earth has to rotate and revolve heralding the seasons, the water has to either flow or stay stagnant each serving its purpose, the wind has to blow or stay calm, the fire has to put forth warmth or burn, each in its station, each with a duty to perform, each has a purpose. So do animals, insects, soil and human beings. She wonders if she has served her purpose, and she quietly decides, she has, else she wouldnt be dying would she?

Basking done, she gets ready for the chores of the day. The family need not know, until they need to know. That way there is less brooding, less focus on her being sick, less of sadness and pity fests. Thats her last gift to the ones she loves, happiness with everything in its place as long as she can give it to them. She will continue with getting things done until she cant get them done anymore and then they would know. A sigh escapes her lips as she washes her empty cup at the sink.