.jpg "English Short Stories")
My mother, Emily, hadn’t even been married for four years when, over a trivial matter, my father, Robert, divorced her. He was quick-tempered, flaring up at the slightest provocation. After the divorce, he regretted it deeply, but the arrow had already left the bow. People say that the bond of marriage is strong, yet it can be as fragile as a spider’s web. Once broken, those threads can never be mended. Crying and heartbroken, Emily returned to her parents’ home. By the time I was old enough to understand, I found myself at the mercy of my grandparents and uncle. When the pain of the divorce eased somewhat, Emily decided she needed to become self-sufficient to provide for us. If she had been more educated, she might have sought a job at a school or college, but she had only completed high school, which left her disheartened and even more sorrowful.
My brother, Michael, and I were young at the time, so we were thrilled to be at our grandparents’ house. We were unaware of the pain of our parents’ separation or the grief of their divorce. Emily, however, became consumed with worry about how to make ends meet. Unfortunately, she lacked any skill that was valued in those times. The trauma of the divorce was still fresh, so my aunts and grandmother doted on us, caring for us tenderly. They would grow anxious over the smallest things, doing their best to meet our needs. Emily was wise; she knew this affection was temporary. Once her siblings started their own families, her status in her parents’ home would diminish. So, she resolved to become self-reliant before the world’s gaze turned cold. On the advice of a friend, she decided to pursue nursing training.
That friend, a head nurse at a hospital, explained that even high school graduates could enroll in nursing courses back then, as few women entered the field. Nursing was often looked down upon, but her friend convinced Emily that it was not only a service to humanity but also an excellent means of livelihood for women in need like her. Emily thought her friend, Sarah, was right—nursing could provide for her and her children. Despite opposition from her mother and brother, Emily didn’t listen and completed her nursing training. She soon landed a job at a hospital. Some days she worked the day shift, others the night shift. She could no longer spend much time with us, which made us anxious. A mother is like a sheltering roof, and when she was home, we feared nothing. But when she was away, we felt uneasy even around family. When we were hungry, we wouldn’t ask for food or take anything from the fridge, even though no one ever forbade us. Only when our grandmother or aunt offered us food would we eat. Even if fruit was placed before us, we wouldn’t touch it unless they handed it to us themselves. Emily constantly advised us not to trouble anyone in the house. Her words had such an impact that, even as children, we began living with the seriousness of adults.
The harshness of our circumstances forced us to grow up quickly. I was preparing for my high school exams when, one day, Emily returned from her shift and collapsed onto her bed. I thought she was just exhausted from work, but that day she seemed unusually frail. As she lay down, a fever spiked. Her condition worsened day by day. She grew frail, vomited a few times, and then lost consciousness. Everyone panicked. My uncle rushed her to the hospital, where she was admitted. The entire household was steeped in sadness and worry. Michael and I were in an even worse state. Without Emily, our hearts felt desolate, and the house seemed empty. That night, we spread out prayer mats in our room and prayed fervently for her recovery, but perhaps our prayers lacked strength. They went unanswered. Emily had contracted a deadly disease from a patient, and in the end, she lost her battle with life. And with her, we lost our battle with life, too.
Days passed in tears and mourning. Gradually, time taught us that we had to face life without our mother, and for that difficult journey, we needed resources. As the elder sibling, I had to think ahead. Time galloped forward like an untamed horse—no one could rein it in. Today’s work had to be done today, not postponed to tomorrow. I decided I wouldn’t study further. Even if I earned a bachelor’s or master’s degree, high-paying jobs were unattainable without bribes or connections. It’s a bitter truth, clear as day, that even those with advanced degrees struggle to find work. But someone with a skill never goes hungry—they earn enough to eat and sleep with a full stomach.
I met everyone with a warm smile, never intending to hurt anyone, and worked with honesty. As a result, I earned respect not only from the hospital staff but also from doctors, patients, and their families. In that environment of respect and affection, I spent many precious years of my life. The dark clouds of my hair began to show traces of gray, as if time had sprinkled snow upon them. I was no longer a carefree young woman but a mature, middle-aged one. After twenty grueling years of perseverance, I reached a point where I could see Michael’s bright future and feel proud and fulfilled. And why wouldn’t I? He was my dear brother, so precious that I could endure any hardship for his sake. Those years of sacrifice brought me no regret or sorrow. Through relentless day and night shifts, I ensured Michael received a higher education, and he eventually stood on his own feet. He told me he loved a girl and wanted to marry her. For his happiness, I arranged his marriage to her.
Seeing him happy and content brought me peace. In my heart, I thanked God for giving me the strength and courage to live with dignity and comfort. The pain of Emily’s loss occasionally unsettled me, but I consoled myself with the thought that she had chosen nursing out of a passion for serving humanity. I carried her mission forward, never faltering in my care for patients. When patients left the hospital, they departed with gratitude and blessings, which were more valuable to me than any prestigious award.
There was a time when I earned a living and lived with pride. Everyone spoke to me with respect. But then came a time when my strength began to wane. Age and weakness overtook me, and I could no longer keep up with the demands of my work. Time slipped from my grasp. Frailty forced me to slow down, and I could no longer call back the days gone by. I began to feel the weight of my limitations. Regrets started to encircle me. My brother, whom I cherished more than life itself, who had become an engineer and a high-ranking officer, began to shy away from introducing me to his acquaintances. He felt embarrassed to admit that his sister was a nurse. My profession had somehow become a stain on his honor. He told me, “Sis, don’t drag on with the job just for the pension. We don’t lack anything.” One day, his boss’s wife was admitted to the hospital for surgery.
By chance, I was on duty in her room, taking her temperature in my nurse’s uniform. Suddenly, her husband and Michael entered the room. The boss recognized me and said in surprise, “Sis, you’re here? Are you in nursing?” I smiled and replied, “Yes, Mr. James.” I saw Michael’s face turn pale. He was drenched in sweat, visibly embarrassed. When we got home, he said, “Sis, I told you to quit the job. Do you see how humiliated I was today at the hospital? My boss won’t respect me anymore. He’ll tell everyone my sister is a nurse.” I replied, “So what, Michael? Being a nurse isn’t something to be ashamed of. Nursing is a respectable profession. Why do you think this way? Only ignorant people think like that.” He said, “Sis, you don’t understand this world. Here, respect and status are judged differently than you think. Please, Sis, quit your job. Don’t cause me further humiliation. It embarrasses me when I lose face in front of my friends and acquaintances because they find out my sister is a nurse.”
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I wanted to give Michael a piece of my mind, but it was pointless. He only understood the language of the world. He was echoing society’s views, and it’s true that society doesn’t genuinely honor the nobility of nursing. Even today, the profession lacks the respect it deserves. The world looks down on us, calling us “sister” but lacking the courage to truly embrace that bond. Our worth is recognized only when a patient is on their deathbed. Once they recover and leave the hospital, we’re forgotten. Many families disapprove of friendships with nurses and discourage their wives or sisters from associating with us. Respectable families prefer a doctor as a daughter-in-law but rarely desire a nurse. The world’s disdain is one thing, but the real pain is that my own brother, whom I raised, is ashamed to be known as a nurse’s sibling simply because he’s now a high-ranking officer. He believes I never married because I’m a nurse, saying that if I were a doctor, people would have lined up with marriage proposals. But I say that marriage, respect, and fate are in God’s hands.
How do I make him understand that I chose not to marry because I had to educate him, to make him successful? It was my hard work that made him an engineer; otherwise, he might have been a small-time mechanic in a workshop. The income from my nursing career elevated him to a high position, yet now that same profession is a source of shame for him? When will our society become enlightened? When will we mature enough to give nursing—the sacred, vital profession rooted in serving humanity—the respect it truly deserves?
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