The Last Word

She lay quietly in the bed, the machines gently humming around her, nurses peeking occasionally through the door to reassure themselves and her that all was well. They had told her that her sons were on the way, all four of them together for the first time in years. Somewhere in her mind the thought drifted that only now, when she was nearing the end of her life, had they decided to make the effort to travel from the various parts of the country to be all together at her bedside. She knew droughts and distance were the true reasons they had not come, but a part of her was saddened that it required her imminent death to bring her precious boys to her side.

As she lay with her eyes almost closed, watching the door, her mind wandered back through the years, remembering all the moments so important to a mother – first steps, first teeth, first words, first days at school, and all the other firsts right through to the first grandchildren. Her husband had been gone for many years and letters from dutiful daughters in law had been the only contact with her sons except for the obligatory phone calls at Christmas, birthday and Mother’s Day. That last was the one they had all deemed the most important to them. She knew they loved her although it was never spoken, and she knew that she loved them so much her heart ached, also never spoken.

Her ears, still keen, picked up the faint sound of footsteps and the deep rumble of voices never forgotten. Finally they had arrived! A nurse quickly passed around the room making sure that all was well and ready for their visit with the mother they had not seen for so many years. They slowly entered the room; unfamiliar city clothes making them look almost like strangers. They greeted her with a smile, an awkward hug and a gentle kiss. The nurse brought chairs and they all sat round her bed, talking quietly of her grandchildren and how they were all growing up way too fast. Warned by the nurse that she tired quickly and tended to slip away into sleep for short periods, they watched as her tired eyes closed and her breathing quieted.

While she slept they reminisced quietly about their childhood on the big family farm. They spoke of favourite pets and good cattle dogs, days spent by the deep creek that watered the cattle and did double duty as the family swimming hole. Being farming folk with healthy appetites, their talk also drifted to some of the wonderful meals they had enjoyed. As she slept peacefully, they talked on quietly about their lives and memories and eventually about their mother’s pride and joy, her turkeys; those big, stupid, noisy birds that chased them and their friends, but clustered around her feet every time she walked in the yard. They talked about the times they and their dogs herded the turkeys up to the top of the hill behind the house then set the dogs after the birds, barking and running at them until the birds took off in fright, attempting to fly to the safety of their coop. Quiet laughter indicated their amusement at the flying efforts of the big birds. At most, they could only get a few feet off the ground, their ineffectual wings flapping furiously, but it was enough to get them the momentum to escape the annoying yapping of the dogs and the shouting boys. Unfortunately, they also gathered speed on their downhill flight – speed it was impossible to control as they got close to safety.

The back wall of the house was strong and solid, built from good Australian hardwood, and easily withstood the impact of the heavy bodies as the birds crashed to a halt at the end of their mad flight. Most just knocked themselves senseless, but sometimes one of the less fortunate suffered a broken neck and had to be dispatched to the kitchen where it was plucked, stuffed, cooked and thoroughly enjoyed by the hungry family. All the time during the preparation, their mother harangued them to set more traps and increase their efforts to get rid of the foxes that were harassing and killing her precious birds.

As they chuckled quietly about their adventures, they did not notice their mother’s eyes had slowly opened. They did not realise she was awake again until she struggled to lift her head from the pillow.

Slowly she raised her head, glared ferociously at each of her guilt stricken sons then lowered her head again saying – words she had never before used in their presence - “Buggars! Every one of you! Buggars!” And with those last words, she quietly died!