Confessions of the Fourth-Generation Offspring
written by: Dalila M
I will never shuffle the deck as masterfully as you do. I am not interested in that anyway, as much as I am in the present, sitting on a red dusty carpet and playing cards, as your occasional laughter fills the small village house. Outside, a few leaves remain clinging tightly to the branches, resembling you, whose spark has almost faded away. Only your smile radiates its last glow. As you tap your cigarette over the ashtray while waiting for me to take my turn, I sense myself getting closer to giving away yet another person to the evil called nicotine. I very much prefer bearing my mom’s coffee breath than your smoker’s breath. I never understood how my mom made it through her childhood without having the urge to run away from this house every time you lit up a cigarette. Or maybe she did.
It was not the nicotine after all.
I knew the day would come sooner or later. I was young when we first met, so to my surprise, you lasted pretty long. Seemingly not long enough for your daughter. I didn’t expect to be told that Grandma would cry as much as she did after you were gone. After all, you were her mother. Gambling-loving, cigarette-smoking, never-not-my-name-mispronouncing, lucky-enough-to-get-to-play-cards-with-her-fourth-generation-offspring mother.
- Confessions of the Fourth-Generation Offspring - March 9, 2026
