|To The Grim Reaper - A Letter
Author: amechan87 PM
An old one-shot. Have you ever written a letter to the Grim Reaper?Rated: Fiction K - English - Family/Tragedy - Words: 1,445 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Published: 10-10-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3064516
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
To the Grim Reaper- A Letter
Dear Mr. Grim Reaper,
I do not really know how I am supposed to tell you, yet I know well that you might patiently read this letter as you wait for some more errands in your office. For your information sir, I am deeply gratified for your highest concern and I thank you for spending some of your precious time reading this. The main purpose in writing this letter is to inform you regarding the event that is taking place almost daily at my home. I know I am just a little lady who is insignificant enough to bother you in your work, and I know I am not the one to complain. However, it happens to me almost everyday and I, myself cannot explain what is simply happening. You might name it as 'post-shifting condition' that you has always said when a family member died. I do not deny that it helps me to forget certain things and be ready to face life and move on. It almost lifts me up into my typical daily life for many times now, which might be a good thing for most opinion. Yet, still thanks to my sense of curiosity, I couldn't stop myself to question. Actually, sir, it just confused me, that's all and by writing this I am hoping that you could explain to me thoroughly and clarify what is going on.
That day, in truth, Edward came to my little apartment, like always. He nagged like a woman, scolding and asking me angrily why my house was dark and why I did not keep my house clean. He even reminded me of the things that passed and I just sat quietly listening more like a child than his own mother. Such son, we were not often given such gift truly, and I could not help but be proud of how much he had grown. When he was about to leave, he took the shopping bag on the table which he had brought in earlier and I simply walked him to the door.
"I thought you are supposed to be in the florist shop," he said. "Don't tell me you learn to skip work from Mrs. McCoy." Mrs. McCoy, for your information, is a friend who also works at the florist shop. She always has some time to be absent though she is apparently in good health. She is two years older than me and with such happiness and good life, I think, you might not be meeting her in next ten years. Well, in hearing my son's remarks I looked blankly at him and smiled. He promised me to come again the next day and then I saw him walking casually along the corridor, a hand in his pocket, jingling his coins and keys. After a few steps, he stopped, making a funny U-turn in front of the lifts, like always.
I couldn't help myself but laughed in front of the door knowing that he had forgotten something. He always forgot the first thing he remembered, that young man.
"By the way, Mother," he said. "This is actually for you." He gave me the shopping bag and left.
I really hope, Mr. Grim Reaper that you still remember my son, Edward, who stood next to me on the right during my husband's funeral. He was my only son, the one who always tried to cheer me up after his Dad passed away three years ago. He is jovial, Mr. Grim Reaper, isn't he? He is the kind of person who would make you laugh even after thousand years of sorrow. He also loves to nag at times, reflecting myself in my olden days. He has grown to be a nice young man.
If only he would just live with me, he might not have to face all those cruel things in life. He was scratching through his collage life, and I knew it, yet he told me he did not want to burden me with more financial matters. I recalled cursing his wretched sense of freedom that took him away from me. Somehow, no matter how hard, a parent would yield to every wish a child desires and he is the child of all my children, my only progeny.
After having breakfast in front of the television and dressed myself, I locked the door while singing a lousy song that I just remembered. That child seriously made me remember things, the wonderful ones, the memorable ones, the silliness and all those colourful nostalgias. Then I found myself on the street walking to the florist shop. Everyone looked amazingly busy and the traffic moved with a strange joyful rapidity. I walked heedlessly trying to reach the shop as fast as I could even though I knew that later something would hold me back, Grim Reaper, such things that I would suddenly remember from the deepest gulf of my soul. Shortly, I would just buy some white roses, I think, instead of selling them and I would go back home in mourn.
Next day, early in the morning I heard a knock at the door and his voice calling me again. "Mother, Mother, are you in there?" He opened the door and found me sitting on the couch flabbergasted. From where I was sitting I could see his familiar figure holding a shopping bag silhouetted against the rushing lights at the opened door.
"Why didn't you switch on the light? It's dark in here." He groped for the switch on the wall and, lo and behold, the light was on revealing the loftiness of my apartment. I heard him sigh and saw him sorrowfully shaking his head. He put the shopping bag on the table and trudged reluctantly to the living room. I was sure he noticed a vase of withered white roses besides the television. He slowly knelt down picking up all the photo albums which were scattering on the floor.
"You know, when I was a boy, you always scolded me for making a mess at home, and I was a naughty brat, was I not? A trip back home from a football match is all a neat mother can handle," he said rather bitterly. I did not know why I slowly smiled listening to it. To think about it you see how ironically I have changed. After he finished tidying and cleaning the house he went to the kitchen for a drink. From the living room I could hear him complaining about my messy kitchen.
"You know, you didn't lock the door when I came here!" he shouted from the kitchen. "There was a burglary next block yesterday. People say they disguise like beggars, begging for food. Mother, do you hear me?" I didn't answer him. I was excited for some reasons, at that time, I guess. With his presence alone by and by, I had forgotten something, something very important, something that I really should remember. Somehow, against all odds, I was happy about it and God, I didn't care if I would never remember it again.
"I need to go now. Don't forget to lock the door." He took the shopping bag on the table and I rose walking him to the door.
"I thought you are supposed to be at the florist shop. Don't tell me you learn to skip work like Mrs. McCoy." I smiled again feeling like a young trainee on probation.
"I'll come again tomorrow, Mother. Don't you forget that." He walked casually down the corridor, a hand shaking his coins and keys in his pocket. After a few steps he turned back making an expected u-turn as he reached the lift.
"By the way, Mother, I forgot. This is actually for you," he handed me the shopping bag while I was laughing and left. He was such a nice boy, wasn't he, Mr. Grim Reaper? He was kind too; too kind that he would probably help those beggars even he knew that they might be burglars playing incognito. By and by, I could sense tears flowing down from my eyes. Yes, he was too kind, and kind people, you said, never stay long in this world, and so he died two months ago being killed in a burglary.
I was sobbing in front of my door all by myself while watching him walked away along the empty hallway. Therefore, I wondered, Mr. Grim Reaper, and I wish you could tell me, sir, why I keep seeing him everyday and he gives me this bag of groceries which I can not even feel though I hug it tightly in my arms?