That night, she cried heartbrokenly. For the first time, I felt resentful of Lucy. She had forgotten how kind my mother had been to her when we first got married, treating her like her own daughter.
When my mother was sick and hospitalized, she didn't even visit once. I figured if she didn't want to go, then she didn't have to; I could take care of my mother on my own.
I worked, cared for her and coaxed her all at the same time. Every day was exhausting. But I figured that once the seven-year itch was over, hoping we could get back together. I endured it all. I made it through.
But my mother didn't. And I finally realized my initial assumptions were wrong. Lucy and I would never be the same again.
The day before my mother's funeral, she left.
The next day, she called and asked me to postpone it. The reason was actually to attend Charlie's mother's 80th birthday.
How could the dead matter be less important the living?
How ridiculous.
She had completely forgotten the phrase "the dead deserved respect."
Not to mention, she was my mother's daughter-in-law.