Stories tagged old

McCloud & Bridey's Time Machine

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Not only was there movement in the heavens but amongst the static things cemented to the structure of the earth. Bridey described the shadows in their circling, constant, day and night circling, like expanded or foreshortened ghosts of real things.

A Caregiver's Homage To The Very Old

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When you take her grocery shopping take a list and make her stick to it as she forgets and duplicates a lot She is also very generous and will insist on buying you something I think she cannot live without fresh flowers or plants that are bl

Scents

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"Ah, finally the rain stopped pouring!" She opens the window to let the sticky air out of the house. The colours outside have changed. The air is clear and the sky turns into light pink while the sun is drowning at the horizon. She takes a deep breath. The…

Our Stop

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With the pernickety finesse of an ageing cat; she waits for the bus to go, then circles the bus stop before prising down one of the seats with a cautious finger. Only when she is sure it is clean will she sit.

Dancing Shoes

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Though she is looking at me, I sense she is seeing someone else. Somewhere else. Maybe a long time ago. Her hair looks like cotton and a silk scarf is draped elegantly across her frail shoulders. Plum lipstick outlines lips almost vanished with age.

Scene at the Courthouse

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Realization of one's ongoing decline. Not a bad thing.

Shim

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better than being dead

Always Vera

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“The price of everything's gone up,” I say. “But I don't have to buy you chocolate if it's costing too much.” She says nothing and bends her head again, gnarled hands slowly breaking a family-sized chocolate block into pieces.

An Old Peach

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Allen would stroll the remains of the orchard, reminiscing with Tad, flirting with dementia.

Anxieties of Absence

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On beach trips with our families, there were bumper cars, jet skis; flash enjoyments, beach-themed distractions.

Ancient American Woman

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"Hell yeah," Yoko Ono agreed.

Breaking Dawn

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This is where he died, she says to me, and points to the damp pavement. Her hair is wet, and slicked against her neck. The humidity is making everything engulf her. The sleep shorts I bought her last July are loose on her now, but between the rain and

The Beautiful Old Men

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So the beautiful old men fill her days. Their beauty comes from their gentleness, their quiet voices, the way they sit so still, hour by hour, causing no harm, giving a sense of peace and complete good-will.

Storms at the Door

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My Mother always said that a storm was death knocking.

Settling

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But she knew what she would find. She knew it all the moment she felt the sticky fingerprints behind the slat of her old oak slay bed. The fingerprints that would only be left from a person grabbing it from behind their head. The fingerprints that she