Read Online Do Not Go Gentle by James W. Jorgensen - Free Book Online

here, Dad, but I’m not calling to talk college football with you.” Eileen and the girls, save Riona, were avid football fans, most of all, college football.
    â€œI know, me Colleen, exactly why you are calling.”
    â€œWell then, why aren’t you listening to
Máthair
? I’m getting bad reports about your behavior, young man.” When the need arose, Brigid could channel her mother and grandmother quite effectively. Brigid, a junior at ND, was musical like her mother, playing piano and guitar, and athletic like her father. She had competed in swimming in high school and played on the ND women’s club water polo team.
    â€œI’m listening to your mother. I’ve stayed home from work the past two days. I’ve made an appointment with Doctor Jasinski. I’m even taking sick leave for the first time in ten years.”
    â€œMaybe, but I’m getting reports of excessive grumpiness, with a chance of severe irritation.”
    â€œVery cute. Don’t you have class? Maybe you could go mother your boyfriend for a while.”
    â€œCarl is doing just fine, thank you for asking father.” Brigid had been dating a young man from the Midwest, Carl Jorgensen, for the past year and a half. They had met at a dorm party and were dating on a regular basis. Although as juniors, they still focused more on classes than commitment. “Don’t try to change the conversation. Please promise me you’ll take care of yourself?” All of the humor left her voice as she spoke the last words.
    â€œI will, lass. I’ll follow doctor’s orders and more important, your mother’s orders.”
    â€œGo ahead, make fun of me,” said Eileen. “Don’t forget that I have a very long memory, boyo.”
    â€œHow could I forget?” Jamie returned to his daughter. “You take care of yourself, your young man, and make sure the football team wins. I’ll take of myself.”
    â€œAll right, Daddy. I’m holding you to that. I love you.”
    â€œI love you, too.”
    Jamie hung up and sighed. “She has not been gone two weeks, and I miss her already.”
    Eileen chuckled. “I know. So have you sufficiently been browbeaten into submission?”
    Jamie held up his hands. “For the last time, yes, woman. Now, would you let me get some of the god-blessed rest you’ve been demanding?”
    â€œNot another word, then,” said Eileen, opening up her book again.
    Jamie awoke to the doorbell. He was groggy, and his head felt like it was being pierced with a dull auger.
Ah Christ, this is getting old.
As he sat up, Eileen got up and opened the door.
    â€œ
Máthair chéile.
Come in, come in,” he heard Eileen say. Jamie’s mother, born in County Cork, insisted on her family using as much Gaelic as possible to preserve their heritage.
Now to top it all off, my mother has come to lecture me.
    Nuala Griffin was still slender, even at sixty-two. Her red hair, interspersed with gray, fell just past her shoulders. As she entered the living room, she fixed her gray eyes on her son and said, “It’s a good thing I found you on the couch, Séamus Edward Griffin,” her pronounced Irish accent tempered a small amount by having lived most of her adult life in America. She wore a simple print dress, and her only jewelry was her claddagh wedding band and a gold and crystal Celtic cross necklace. “What’s this I’m hearing about you taking ill?”
    â€œCome in,
Máthair
. Have a seat and join in the parade of female pummeling.”
    Nuala, short for Fionnghuala, settled gracefully onto the sectional beside her son, smoothing out her dress and placing one hand upon his brow. “You’ve no fever at least.”
    â€œNo, mother, no fever. I’m just fighting the feckin’ flu.”
    Nuala poked a finger in Jamie’s face. “You’ll be watchin’ your language around me,