A close friend of mine, Margaret, is 70 years old. Recently, she suffered a stroke and ended up in a hospital in one of the suburbs of Manchester. The exact reasons aren’t clear—perhaps her age, or an unhealthy lifestyle: poor diet, lack of fresh air, or maybe both.
Her son, Oliver, has lived in another city, Edinburgh, hundreds of miles away, for several years. He has his own family—a wife and two children. When Margaret was admitted to the hospital, her neighbors called an ambulance. Distant relatives found out and now visit her regularly, bringing medicine and words of comfort. Margaret is recovering slowly but still can’t leave her bed.
Oliver called just once. He transferred money for her treatment—and that was the extent of his involvement. He didn’t visit, didn’t ask how his mother was doing. He has his own pressing matters, apparently, and couldn’t be bothered with what was happening to her. “What good would it do if I came?” he said to one of the relatives. In his mind, money was all that was required of him.
Meanwhile, those distant relatives show up at the hospital every day. They buy the necessary medications, ask Margaret how she’s feeling, and consult with doctors to understand her condition. Their care is the only thing keeping her going through these difficult times.
It makes me wonder: where do we, as mothers, go wrong when our children treat us this way? I’m convinced that how children behave toward their parents is a reflection of how they were raised. They watch us, absorb our words, actions, and values. If we were distant or unfair, we shouldn’t be surprised when indifference is what we receive in return.
I firmly believe there are no bad children or grandchildren—only parents who failed to set the right example. If you want to be a good parent, show it through your deeds. A child who sees their mother caring for her own mother will learn that lesson. But in Margaret’s case, it was different. Oliver never saw his mother maintain a close bond with her own mother in her final years. Margaret turned away from her, and now her son is following the same path.
Life works like a boomerang—what you throw out eventually comes back. In a strange way, there’s justice in that. Lying in that hospital bed, surrounded by strangers rather than her own son, Margaret is now facing the consequences of her past choices. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but perhaps it’s a chance for reflection—for her, and for all of us.
