He put his mother in a nursing home. Her last words would haunt him forever.
I was coming home after a long day at work when I spotted my neighbor—Simon. He sat slumped on the bench near the building, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Though we’d never been close, I couldn’t walk past. Here was a grown man, forty-five years old, crying like a child.
“Everything alright, Simon?” I asked cautiously, stepping closer.
He lifted bloodshot eyes to me and whispered, “It’s too late now. I’ll never forgive myself. Never.”
I sat beside him. He took a shuddering breath, as if steeling himself for confession.
“Mum’s dying. She’s in hospital. I just got back. The doctors say there’s no hope… And I… I wasn’t even there.”
Five years ago, he’d placed her in a private care home near Manchester. She hadn’t been helpless, but age had worn her down. Weak legs made shopping and cooking difficult. Simon was a high-flying executive then—endless meetings, business trips, clients. He told himself she’d be better off in that home. Round-the-clock care, meals on schedule, doctors on hand. That’s how he justified it.
“I thought I was doing right by her. That paying top price meant I’d done everything I could. But really… I just walked away from my responsibility.”
The first year, he visited once or twice a month. Then less. The last year? Not at all.
“There was always something. Work. Women. Trips. Everything felt more important than an old woman who once held my hand on the way to school…”
That morning, a nurse from the home had called. His mother had been rushed to hospital. Critical condition. He dropped everything and went.
“When I walked into that room… She was so small. Just… lost. Eyes closed, breathing ragged, her skin like ash.”
His voice faltered. Then he forced the words out, carved into his memory forever.
“I said, ‘Mum, I’m here.’ She opened her eyes, smiled, and whispered, ‘Hello, love…’”
His voice broke. He spoke slower now, each word an agony.
“‘Don’t be angry I didn’t tell you I was ill. I knew how busy you were. Didn’t want to worry you. The doctors said nothing, but I felt it—my time was short. That’s why I asked them to call. I just wanted to say goodbye. Needed to see you… to know you were alright.’”
I held my breath. Simon fought to keep speaking, as if the words could purge his guilt.
“She said, ‘I’m not afraid. I’m used to being alone. I’m afraid for you. Don’t end up like me. Don’t let your children forget you. Keep your family close…’”
Her last words:
“‘I wish I could see you marry, watch my grandchildren grow. Don’t wait, son. Build a family. Because family’s all we really have…’”
Then she took a turn. He ran for the doctors. She never woke up.
Silence. Not even the rustle of leaves. I didn’t know what to say. Just rested a hand on his shoulder. He shut his eyes.
“Every day, I swear I’ll change. That if she’d just open her eyes, I’d do it all differently. But she won’t. And her words… they’ll live inside me till I die.”
