The way of seeing and treating our “old” is indicative of our society. These now elderly people, who toiled for us, our parents, our grandparents, our ancestors, our ancestors must keep their true place. This text is dedicated to them. The proof that old age and modernity can coexist… thanks to U.S.
Photo: Valérie Doulevant
Memory and forgetfulness
“This morning, my pen patiently waited near the blank page that I asked him to get to work.
I was reading the various messages that were displayed on the computer screen, without paying him the slightest attention, when I heard a sigh followed by a long moan !
Intrigued, I looked in the direction of this unusual noise ! My feather, nose plunged in a puddle of black ink, cried hot tears!
– What happens to you, did i ask him ?
– Nothing serious, did she answer between two sobs !
– But still, my darling, tell me what's wrong !
Silence followed my question ! I waited without pushing her for her to tell me the reason for her sorrow !
Finally, all smeared with tears she replied :
– You see, I'm getting old: few people still need me, writers like you prefer to use the faster computer keyboard, easier to handle, I know that sooner or later, I will end up at the bottom of a drawer where I will be forgotten until, object become useless, I was thrown in any trash can to be cremated !
Non, do not say anything ! It is not on my fate that I shed tears; I have long been resigned to leave this earth sooner or later to join the light !
No more hugs
I think of all those humans who got old, worn out by work, who gave their love to ungrateful people who let them languish in sinister homes, without ever visiting them, without ever worrying about their fate, never hug them again. These poor people have no hope, they await death as deliverance, I find it unfair and it makes me sad !
To theses words, I too wanted to cry. I took it in my fingers, I wiped her dripping nose and squeezed it a little harder, making him understand, that she would never know the fate she dreads !
I am not ungrateful, it’s with another feather, similar to the one I hold in my hand, that I learned to write, a long time ago.
It was thanks to a pen that I was able to start writing stories that delight hearts ! I will never leave this inanimate object which has given me so much and which has more humanity than some human brothers !
Meditate…
My friends, meditate this story, take the time to show your love to those closest to you, do not abandon them because they are old and useless in the eyes of a society which has forgotten the true values ! They are the memory of the past, they sacrificed themselves for us and allowed us to be what we are. As such they are entitled to our love and our recognition !“
Ghislaine Jermed was born in Liège on 15 November 1946. Studies of medicine then law, this author was a lawyer and jurist before devoting herself to her passion: writing.
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