PHOTO PROMPT© Na’ama Yehuda תודה חברה שלי
Abandoning Michigan winters and my family had been necessary. I’d lived in Hawaii for thirty years when Dotty, my youngest sister, called and said Mama didn’t have long. I packed my peach fleece-lined jacket.
They hovered around her, their faces uncharacteristically crumpled and wet. Dotty moved aside, said, “She’s been waiting for you.”
Fit and tanned before, now she looked shriveled and yellow. Her eyes were closed, breathing shallow, stale onion stench rising from her.
“Mama?” I said, wrapping her cold hand in mine. Her eyes opened and she smiled.
“See you in hell,” she whispered, and died.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the summery host of Friday Fictioneers.