When Money Sleeps, RN Gourgot [read e books online free TXT] 📗

Money never stopped. Money never stayed. Money never slept.


My son, Mohneer, was my one and only child. He was just like his father who passed away a few years ago: overambitious, business-minded, workaholic. However, he did have softer sides to his otherwise dry personality; he was caring, generous, and sympathetic. Perhaps, not many got to see that side of him. Maybe that’s why his “closest friends” gave him a nickname that they felt not only sounded like his real name, but also matched his love for money – Money

.

Wealth does come with its tags and caveats. A socialite housewife like me would know better. Having a rich husband meant I was part of the most elite clubs and centers of the society. Some of these would be seen as rather mundane and unnecessary by my middle-class counterparts. However, most of these memberships were rather self-imposed if one wanted to rub shoulders with the other elites. And sometimes, it wasn’t just us, but also our children who had to be a part of them. And although they weren’t required to be present all the time, there were some non-negotiable days and events which they had to be a part of.


One such a circumstance was the Annual Ball, hosted by the Maison d’Or – a “rich and famous”-only club where all the big names from the entertainment, fashion, business and politics world belonged. Money, as usual, was always caught up and stressed from work; but even that was not good enough an excuse to attend tonight’s event. All he had to do was to just be there, smile, and maintain perfect poise.

Sadly, that night had something else in store for him, for us, for our future. Upon returning home, he fainted and began bleeding from his nose. I called an ambulance, which promptly arrived. Given our financial capacity and the popularity of my husband’s name, Money was admitted straight to a VIP private room, at the topmost floor. The crème de la crème doctor and nurses were appointed to attend him. They quickly examined him to determine the cause.


After a few minutes of agonizingly and anxiously waiting outside his room, I was called in. They said he had taken an overdose of xanthine – a powerful stimulant. Of course, given his lifestyle, it was a no brainer for me to figure out why he did what he did. My son was constantly tugged between working endlessly to keep his father’s legacy and complying with high-class societal obligations, like a vagabond with no soul of his own. His resorting to such a thing was totally understandable, from a mother’s point of view.
The room was blue, cold, and unforgiving. How could I not only not notice what he was going through, but also oblige him to give in to my requests, solely to help me maintain my status? My conscience gradually began to devour my sense of hierarchical pride.

Suddenly, I was reminded of that painful moment I had to go through watching my husband die from a stress-related heart attack, thanks to work overload. It seemed like that whole scene was replaying in front of me, disguised differently. I then began to realize the reason why my son felt like he had to live up to a certain image – me. After all, he saw the way his father took care of us and our not-so-necessary “needs”. It was only natural for him to want to at least match that, if not surpass him. With his father deceased, I was the only one remaining to whom he could prove his worthiness. As I watched him sleep through his healing, I became more and more aware of the silent killer that I had been to both my husband and my son. Luckily, my son survived.


Today, I live in an old age home… away from the shackles, away from the dogma, and away from the obligations that come with being elite. It was a voluntary and well-thought decision. Of course, Money was not supportive of it at first, but I didn’t expect a young 25-year-old unmarried man like him to understand a 50-year-old widowed woman like me just yet. All I want is for him not to fall in the trap and get caught in the vicious cycle his father created (and fell prey to himself). Geared up with my advice and blessings, Money now lives in another town nearby, where he successfully runs a Workaholics Anonymous group, in addition to various other charities close to his heart.

Finally

, Money gets to do what he always wanted to. Finally

, Money gets the time and space he once craved for. Finally

, Money gets his daily dose of a good night’s sleep.

Publication Date: 12-04-2012

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