Ive been looking after him for eight whole years, and nobody ever bothered to thank me.
You know how tough it is to care for someone whos ill. Its a massive effort even when its a close relative, but I ended up looking after my daughterinlaws dad for eight years. He was basically a stranger to me, and not a single word of gratitude ever came my way. Its left a pretty deep scar.
Im 72 now, and the story Im about to tell happened almost fifteen years ago.
My husband passed away many years ago. Ive got a son, a daughterinlaw and a grandson. My daughterinlaws father, Arthur Whitfield, was a kind soul. He taught maths at a secondary school in Manchester until he fell seriously ill.
We spent a fortune on his treatment, throwing hundreds of pounds at doctors, hospitals and medication. I chipped in whatever I could financially as well.
Eventually he became bedridden and tied to the bed. There was no one else to look after him. My son was swamped with work and travelling for meetings, my grandson was still at university, and my daughterinlaw, Claire, was working fulltime. She had an older daughter, Poppy, who lived up in Leeds she could only phone in and offer sympathy.
Claire wasnt allowed to take sick leave. Her boss warned her, Either you keep working, or youre out. Naturally she chose the job, and the burden of caring for her dad fell on me.
At first Claire asked me to pop over once a day to cook and feed him. I agreed, thinking it would be a quick favour. I never imagined Id be stuck doing it for eight years.
In the beginning Id stay for a couple of hours and then head home. But as time went on, Claire kept handing me more and more tasks. Before I knew it I was spending the whole day with Arthur, only leaving at night, and walking back to his house first thing in the morning.
My son felt sorry for me. He saw how hard it was and kept telling me to quit the charity work I was doing to free up some time, though he never said anything to Claire because he was still living in her flat.
It was a nightmare when Arthurs older sister, Margaret, kept ringing me up, telling me exactly what to do, how to do it, how to look after her dad. Claire would get upset with me whenever I couldnt fit something in, and shed snap, If you cant handle it, take your son and go! Ill manage on my own, Ill find a babysitter! I had to put up with that for eight long years.
When he finally passed away, none of his daughters ever thanked me for looking after their father for so long. Margaret even said Id never been forced to care for him Id done it because I wanted to.
Thats how it goes: you do something good for folks, and they can be so cruel they dont even bother to say thank you.
