Good Habits

My mom sat up in the hospice provided hospital bed, feebly trying to rip a packing label with her name on it from an Amazon box.

She had just bought, “without asking,” what looked to be a lifetime supply of chili paste for my sister. My mom had been living with my sister for a few months as late stage Leukemia ravaged her strength.

I waited patiently next to the bed for my mom to scrape the incriminating label off the box so I could take it to the recycling.

Finally she paused and said, defeated, “you can take it, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

I took the box and quickly ripped the label off, crumpling it up in my fist.

“It does matter,” I mumbled, “it’s a good habit,” as I left the room with folded cardboard in hand. My mother lay back on the bed.

Outside the cold, grey western mass winter advanced, unstoppable and inevitable.