I will never forget Mildred | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: I will never forget Mildred | Previous Challenge Entry
By Linda Goergen
09/14/16
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With little sleep, the stress of getting mom to the hospital on time, and listening to her reiterate the entire drive that she didn’t want to be having this decade planned colonoscopy, my nerves are on edge as the nurse leads me to the waiting room.

I only want to wait in quiet peace. Instead I’m faced with a woman telling an obviously uninterested family about her wonderful breakfast. Politely they attempt to quench her gab, but she prattles on recounting many other meals she’s enjoyed. “Who cares” my mind mutely mumbles! “Mom and I haven’t even had breakfast!"

I move a few chairs over from her but it does little to lower the irritation of her ceaseless chatter. It’s penetrating the morning fog in my brain, like light scattering into fractions, then pooling into a headache!

Good grief, it’s barely daylight, how can someone be so overflowing with wearisome words so early? I don’t even want to be out of bed, much less sitting here in this hospital waiting room being tortured with torrents of trivial talk! Aggravation seeps deeper as I realize my mind is asserting its annoyance in alliteration. I resent her prompting my mind to be that active this early. I move even more chairs down from her when I observe the family's escape. She watches me out of the corner of her eye. Good, maybe she will get the hint—but maybe not.

She has now cornered three other people and my misery laden mind focuses enough to hear her telling them she recently had to re-home her beloved dog, Buttercup. I can’t help thinking Buttercup has to be better off. Did Buttercup ever get any rest from her bantering? As the group expresses their sorrow and questions why she had to give up Buttercup, she cuts them off and starts into a string of funny stories of her and Buttercup. Not only does this lady never run down, she is rude. I move as far away from her now as the waiting room will allow me. She openly watches me move this time. Hopefully she will now get the hint.

When the trio-group leaves (probably to get away from her and her Buttercup tales) two more people walk in and have the misfortune of sitting right by her. Now God knows I love dogs more than many, and adore my four, but I would never cram their cuteness down stranger’s throats ad nauseum! I cringe, wondering if the new couple will also get bombarded with bunches of Buttercup tales buried in her basket of bore.

The new pair though, are being gifted with gibberish about George. They smile (surely hiding their pain) as she drones on about the good times she had with dear ole George. Trying unsuccessfully to block the mundane memories she’s sharing, I inwardly moan when I hear her say “…even sitting silently with George enjoying God’s beauty were special days”. I think “I bet those were rare days”, because I find it hard to imagine her letting poor George sit in silence very often!

As she rambles on, for the umpteenth time I wish they’d hurry with mother’s procedure! I want to get out of this waiting room! I glance up and notice the two people leaving. I panic, realizing that now it will be only her and I left.

I close my eyes pretending to sleep, but hear her come and stand directly in front of me. I try not to respond and keep my head down. Suddenly she softly says “I’m dying. I don’t have much time.” I can’t help myself, I look up. Her eyes are glistening, but she holds back the tears. She looks me in the eye and says “My name is Mildred. I just want to remind myself and others, as often as I can, that I lived—before I die. I want my last days to end speaking of happy things, not dwelling on the bad. I've been blessed.”

Ashamed, I silently pray “Dear God, please forgive me! It’s me that’s selfish, not Mildred!” While I wanted to sulk in the bad of the day, she wanted to highlight the often overlooked good of life.

Suddenly I feel talkative. I reach out for Mildred’s shaking hand, asking if I can pray with her. For the first time today she is speechless and only nods yes. I will never forget Mildred. Never! Silence may be golden, but sometimes talk is a treasure!

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