My dad was afraid I'd see him cry. He turned around, saying he'd go find Old Madge.
Not long after, my wife called—sobbing, screaming, demanding to know what the hell was going on. She said my mom had snapped. She'd grabbed every bottle of liquor in the house and doused The Lambert Ancestral Hall, swearing she'd burn it to the ground.
And after that? She was going to hang herself from the rafters. Let every Lambert ancestor witness her grievance.
The moment I heard that, tears filled my eyes. I told my wife to put it on speaker.
"Mom! Don't do anything stupid. Even if you never acknowledge me again, even if you hate me—you're still my only mom. I know you're in pain. I know this is destroying you. But you shouldn't have to bear this. Live. Think it through. Whether you want me or not, I'll do whatever you say. As long as you're okay."
"Without you, I'd be nothing. Your patience, your gentleness—that's what made me who I am. Mom, I know how hard it's been. I understand your grievance. Please don't throw everything away like this."
My son's small voice drifted closer, high and frightened. The little guy was crying too, running toward her.
"Grandma! Grandma, what's wrong? I want Grandma to hug me…"
I was crying now too, begging her not to leave, trying to calm her down.
"Mom, can you hear him? Because of you, I have this family. We all love you. You're the only grandma he knows. Please—don't punish yourself like this. We need you."
She wailed—a raw, broken sound—then slowly crumpled to the floor and pulled my son into her arms. She cried for a long, long time before finally going quiet.
Over an hour later, my wife brought her to the hospital. Mom had cried herself unconscious. By then, I was burning up so badly I couldn't stop vomiting. The thermometer shot past 104 degrees almost instantly.
The violent retching was agony. Every cough felt like needles stabbing my lungs.
Mom still loved me. Even hoarse and shattered, she kept asking the doctor what to do, over and over, until he was at a loss too.
I managed to call my dad. Fifteen minutes later, he rushed in—and delivered the news I'd been dreading.
"I went back to the village. Searched everywhere for Old Madge. Couldn't find her." He swallowed hard. "Finally checked her house. Found her in the trash heap out back."
"And? Did she come with you?"
"She can't come." His voice dropped. "She's dead. Body was still warm when I found her, but she wasn't breathing. A rat crawled down her throat. She choked on it." He shuddered. "Horrible way to go. I already told the village secretary to send people."
My heart turned to ash. My arm dropped limp. A hollow ringing filled my ears.
"Then it's over…"
