By Wendy Falla
THIRD PLACE in the November 2026 Competition
Approaching my sixtieth year, the least confrontational course of action was to be compliant when in the company of my mother. Anything for a quiet life. She was used to being in charge, matron during her working life and at home, despite occasionally letting my father think that he was getting his own way, he wasn’t! When visiting, I worked through lists of chores, changed summer curtains to winter weight, lifted Dahlias, pruned roses, made trips to the dump – all to mum’s instructions. A woman of routine, shopping lists and cleaning rotas. Market day Thursday, hairdresser Friday, cemetery on Saturday, church on Sunday. I nodded agreement when in her presence, but smiled, said ‘goodbye’ got into my car silent screaming and gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.
Then it all changed, a fall, a stroke, perhaps the stroke precipitated the fall. And not one to do things by halves, it happened while I was on holiday for the first time in years! I abandoned my canal-side lunch in Venice, heading straight to the airport leaving my friends to pack my luggage and bring it back at the end of the week.
How fragile life is. In a blink, the mother I knew was gone. Without the pleated skirt, twin set, practical leather brogues and immaculately coiffed silver hair, her power had gone. Confined to her hospital bed, robbed of speech, she tried to communicate with her eyes but it was a language I didn’t understand. All the years I’d spent thinking how I would do things differently, suddenly my mind went blank. Who to contact? Deliveries and appointments needed to be cancelled. I sat at her bedside, holding her hand and in the early hours of the new year, with gentle sigh, a generation passed.
Judges’ Comments: A moving account of a complex relationship dynamic with some wonderful storytelling details. Well done.
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