The Last Fireworks

Just after my seventieth birthday, I was diagnosed with brain atrophy.

When they heard the doctor, my sons panicked, each wiping away tears.

In the end, everyone agreed that they would never give up on me.

My eldest son said he'd pay for a caregiver, while my younger son insisted on taking me in and looking after me himself.

My heart felt warm. I thought all my sacrifices in this life had finally paid off.

Overjoyed, I went home with my younger son.

But my condition deteriorated far faster than anyone had imagined.

In just two short years, I was lucid only a handful of times.

I had to be fed, reminded to go to the bathroom, and even nearly threw my grandson away like trash several times.

Only when they lost patience with me and started abusing me in all sorts of ways did I finally understand.

It turned out I should find a place of my own, too...