She wasn’t breathing. My mother stopped breathing in hospice. Cradling my face, I tried to catch my breath, I tried, as the air conditioner kicked on-off-on-off, a constant groan, before her hand gripped mine, ONCE.
And I’m that frightened child, in the dark, the one who can’t close her eyes.
Angela Carlton’s fiction has been published in Every Writer, Everyday Fiction, 6S, 50 Word Stories, Spillwords Press, Friday Flash Fiction and Paragraph Planet. In 2018, her story “The Roommates,” was made into a short film. In 2023, her story “Swallowed,” was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. See more at Angela Carlton Stories & Art | Facebook.
Beautifully heart-wrenching, Angela ❤️
Thank you, it means so much coming from a writer who is so skilled and enjoys the craft!
Gripping. What a powerful portrayal of a time in life that is all to familiar to so many of us…
Great job Angela. Yes so many of us have been there.
Life moves on, but the connection to our mom, everlasting. Our eyes open to the finality of theirs closing. This is a very special one, Angela- love it
Very touching… You can feel the emotions and would know the Mother turned into a Guardian Angel… Good story as always!!
The moment your heart stops and you realize you might lose the person who means everything to you.
A poignant moment well captured in just fifty words.
Very deep
Awesome job, Angela!
Wow! Very powerful!!