My husband decided I should wait hand and foot on his mum, but I had other plans
So, Mums moving in tomorrow morning. Ive already sorted it with Uncle Bob, hell help with the boxes. And dont give me that face, Emily, we havent got any choice. She had a nasty turn with her blood pressure, she needs proper care, home-cooked meals, and some peace. Youre at home all day anyway, working on your laptop it wont be hard to spoon up some soup and check her blood pressure.
Simon said it in that firm, no-nonsense voice that tells you theres no room for debate. He then buried his head in his bowl of beef stew, trying to signal the conversation was finished. I was slicing sourdough, knife hovering mid-air, when those words hit home part freezing me, part sending a hot wave of anger through me.
I carefully put the knife down and looked at him. After twenty years together, there was my husband, in the warm kitchen Id made our own, laying out my life like I was some kind of service app. The domestic attachment to a slow cooker and blood pressure cuff.
Simon, I started quietly but I could hear those steel edges creeping into my own voice; the kind that usually warned him a storm was brewing, though just then he was busy fishing out chunks of beef. Did you even ask me? Ive got year-end reports breathing down my neck. Im working from home, not just sitting around. Theres a massive difference. I need calm and focus, not constant pill-fetching and listening to complaints all day.
Finally, he looked up at me, his face a mixture of confusion and irritation.
Em, come off it. Its my mum! Not some random woman off the street. What am I supposed to do? Hospitals wont keep her long, hiring a private carer costs a fortune, and you know were paying the car loan. Youre at your computer all day how hard is it to take a five-minute tea break and check on her?
Five minutes? I let out a bitter chuckle. Your mother, Mrs Gladys Thompson, needs attention round the clock! Do you remember last summer at the cottage? She ran me ragged the tea was too strong, the pillow too lumpy, the sun in the wrong spot on the patio. And that was when she was well. Imagine what shell be like now she feels poorly?
Youre exaggerating, he waved me off. Mums just set in her ways, thats all. And its only for a bit. A month, maybe. Shell be back on her feet and home before we know it. And honestly, youre a woman its just natural youd show a bit of kindness.
Naturally should. That word bit into me. My whole life, Id been should-ing myself good hostess, model mum (until our son moved away to uni), understanding wife, responsible employee. Here I was at forty-five, with our son gone and my career picking up pace, and suddenly I was being handed yet another should.
Gladys wasnt just set in her ways, she was a force of nature. Shed spent decades as a shop manager, used to bossing people around and always being at the centre of every drama. Any minor twinge was a five-act tragedy requiring the whole family to rally round. But this time, Simon just wanted to shift all the rallying straight onto me.
I cant, Simon, I said firmly. Ive got other plans.
What plans? Watching your shows? he snapped, sneering a little.
I took on a massive new client. Theyve asked me to manage the books for their whole chain of shops. Big money, serious responsibility. I wont manage with constant interruptions.
Turn it down, he shrugged, tearing off a hunk of bread. Were already earning enough, but Mums health comes first. Dont be selfish, Em. Well bring her over by ten, so sort out the spare room and change the sheets. And make a chicken broth no fatty foods for her.
He left the kitchen, convinced hed had the last word. Thats always how it was: Simon would lay down the law, Id protest, then ultimately give in, sacrificing my peace for family harmony.
I just sat there in the quiet, as dusk gathered and the streetlamp outside swayed in the wind. The thought wouldnt leave me: If I cave in now, Ill never stop. Ill be an unpaid carer until she chooses to go. High blood pressure isnt just for today, its forever.
Then I remembered my chat with my boss this morning Debs, the company director.
Emily, were opening a new branch in Hull. I need someone to set up the finance side, get everything running smoothly. A month away, maybe six weeks. Well put you up, double pay. Youre my first choice. But I need your answer by tomorrow.
At the time, I was hesitant. Going to another city, living on my own, leaving Simon for weeks on end it felt off. Now, staring at my husbands empty stew bowl, I realised this wasnt just a job it was a lifeline.
I loaded the dishwasher and packed my things in the bedroom. Simon, stretched out on the sofa with the telly on, didnt even look up as I pulled the suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe.
What are you doing? he said lazily. About time you decluttered, half that stuffs probably out of date.
Im leaving, Simon, I replied, neatly folding my tops.
He muted the telly, turning to look at me properly for the first time.
Where are you off to, your mums? Shes in Devon!
No. Im heading to Hull. Work trip. Ill be gone at least a month and a half.
Silence. Simon stared like Id sprouted another head.
Youre joking, right? What about Mum? Whos going to look after her?
You are, Simon. Shes your mother. Your own mum. Not some stranger.
Have you lost your mind? I have work! Im out from eight til seven! Wholl give her her pills, make sure shes fed?
Take some leave. Or swap shifts. Or get more flexi-hours. You told me to put family first and drop my project so now its your turn for a bit of compassion.
This is betrayal! He went red. Youre doing this just to spite me!
No, Simon. The offer came this morning, and I wasnt sure but you helped make my mind up. Youre right, we need the money, and the car finance wont pay itself. And with what Ill earn on this job, we could cover a carer if you really cant cope.
I carried on packing: toothbrush, make-up, my loungewear, work laptop. Simon followed me round the flat, arms waving, threatening divorce, acting wounded.
How can you abandon a helpless old lady like this? he railed, getting more and more melodramatic.
Shes not abandoned, shes with her loving son, I said, zipping up my suitcase. Ive called a cab. The trains in two hours.
You wouldnt dare! Simon blocked the door.
I walked right up to him, meeting his gaze.
I dare. Ive laundered your shirts and cooked you dinner for twenty years. Ive bent over backwards for your mums whims. Im done being the convenient option. Now move, or Ill file for divorce and you can split your time between Mums care and sorting the flat.
He stepped aside, stunned. Hed never seen me like this before gone was the agreeable, easy-going Emily; in her place was a steely version he barely recognised.
When the front door slammed, Simon was left alone in the echo of our flat. The next morning, his mum arrived.
Gladys swept into the hallway like a queen in exile, clutching three massive shopping bags full, not of clothes, but jars of homemade jam, battered blankets, and religious trinkets.
Wheres Emily? she croaked, settling onto our sons old bed. I need my pillow fluffed, its draughty in here.
Shes gone, Simon muttered, dragging in her last bag. Work trip. Had to leave in a hurry.
Gladys clutched her chest for dramatic effect.
Gone?! And whos supposed to look after me? I need broth every three hours! How could she leave her husbands mother like this? Its inhuman!
Ill look after you, Mum. I will.
That was the start of the nightmare.
Of course, Simon didnt take time off the boss wouldnt allow it, too busy at work. He tried working half days from home, but that was a joke.
At 7am, Gladys was banging her walking stick on the wall (she brought it specially, even though she walked just fine).
Simon, love! My blood pressure, quick, I feel like Im dying!
He’d stumble in, eyes gritty and red, with the blood pressure monitor. Every time, her readings were normal fit for a marathon runner. Still, shed demand drops, lemon tea (with two sugars, un-stirred!), and a hot water bottle.
Next came the porridge. The only hot food Simon could make was toast and egg. The porridge burnt.
Youre trying to poison me! she wailed, poking at the blackened oats. Emily must have put you up to this wants me out of the way!
Hed dash off to work, leaving her with a thermos and some sandwiches. His phone would ping every twenty minutes.
Simon, Ive lost the TV remote!
Simon, theres a draught, how do I shut the window?
Simon, did I take the red pill or the blue one? Come check!
By evening, hed return to chaos. Somehow, even on strict bed rest, Gladys had managed to tear the flat apart.
This place is filthy! shed greet him. I tried wiping the shelves but nearly fainted. Emily was a disgrace; youll get mice with all this flour in bags instead of jars.
Simon gritted his teeth, reheated some shop-bought fishcakes (all he had energy for now), washed up, and listened as she droned on about what a terrible wife I was and how he, her poor son, was wasting away.
Within a week, Simon was a shell forgetful at work, pulled up by his boss. At home, he had no peace. Gladys never stopped demanding, talking, moaning.
Mum, cant you watch telly for an hour? Let me just do some work? he begged.
Work matters more than your own mother! shed sob. Just wait til Im dead, youll be sorry!
One evening, getting in early for once, Simon caught sight of something interesting. The door to his mothers room was ajar. Having called him earlier about crippling pain all over, there she was sprightly as could be, standing on a footstool and dusting the chandelier. When she heard the key turn, she leapt to the ground, threw herself onto the bed, and pulled the blanket up.
Oh, Simon darling, is that you? Ive been lying here all day, can barely move. Could you get me a drink?
Simon stood in the doorway, just watching. Something snapped inside him the invisible cord shed been tugging his whole life.
Mum, he said softly. I saw you.
Saw what? Her eyes darted.
On the stool. Jumping about. Youre fine. Theres nothing wrong with you youre just tormenting me and Emily.
How dare you! she screeched, instantly dropping the sick act. I was just dusting for you! Its filthy you cant live like this! Your wifes ruined you.
Im the ungrateful one? he laughed, on the edge of tears. Ive not slept for a week, almost lost my job. Emilys left because of your tricks. And youre playing games.
Emilys a snake! she shouted. A good wife would be here, washing my feet!
Shes a great wife, Mum. I was the rubbish husband. All this stuff I forced on her it was my responsibility. Or maybe it wasnt anyones.
That night, Simon rang me for the first time that week.
Hello? I answered, my voice crisp. Office noises behind me.
Hi, Em… you alright?
Im fine, Simon. What happened? Is your mum okay?
Shes… absolutely fine. In fact, too fine. Em, Im Ive been an idiot.
I know, I said, but I smiled. Whats up?
I cant keep doing this. Shes not ill, Em, shes just a nightmare. I saw her cleaning the chandelier leaping about like a gymnast.
I laughed. Did wonder, Simon. High blood pressure hardly calls for acrobatics.
When will you be home? he asked hopefully.
End of the month, at least. Ive got a contract. Cant just leave.
A month… God. I cant take it.
Youll cope. Think of it as character building. Youll get a proper taste of what it means to run a house and look after someone elderly a good lesson, Si.
Em, Im sorry. I get it now. I was so wrong to try and derail your plans. Your jobs important. Youre important.
Glad you finally said it, I chuckled. Ive got to go to a meeting. Hang in there. Love to your mum.
After that, the month dragged. But Simon now knew what he had to do.
He told his mum: Tomorrow, were off to see a private specialist. Well get a full check-up. If you need care, Ill pay for a carer a proper one who wont stand for drama, routine all the way. If youre fit as a fiddle, though, youll go home and social services can check in twice a week.
A carer? Waste of money! Im fine…
No, Mum. Youre ill you said so yourself! You need professional support. Ive got to work.
Not surprisingly, the doctor found nothing apart from very normal ageing. Gladys tried playing up again, but Simon kept calling the out-of-hours surgery. After the third time, she realised shed lost her audience.
She packed her own things.
Take me home, she said. At least the neighbours there have some manners. Youve gone heartless, Simon all Emilys doing.
He drove her back, lugged her bags up the stairs, stocked her fridge.
Ill come at weekends, Mum, he told her, but were best off living apart. Its better for everyone.
When I got home, I walked into a flat that sparkled and hummed with peace. Simon met me at Euston with a huge bunch of roses. Hed lost weight, looked shattered, but there was something different in his eyes respect, maybe. A kind of realisation.
At dinner (hed made baked salmon, surprisingly edible!), we finally talked properly.
I missed you, he admitted. Not just because I was drowning at home. The place felt so empty without you.
I missed you too, I said with a warm smile. But the projects done I even got a bonus. Theyve offered me a promotion. Ill be overseeing more offices, so Ill travel now and then.
Simon tensed at first, then nodded.
Alright. Youre incredible. Im proud of you.
And your mum?
She calls. Complains about the neighbours, the council, the weather. But her backs fine, and her blood pressures magic. I got Mrs Baker from downstairs to help out for a few quid a week. Turns out, lifes more peaceful and cheaper that way.
I squeezed his hand. You know, Im glad things happened like this. Sometimes it takes hitting a wall to realise simple truths.
He smiled: Like the fact a wife isnt hired help. Shes a partner.
After that, our house ran on new rules. I didnt hesitate to say no when I needed to, and Simon stopped assuming chores and family care were womens work. Gladys didnt change, but her tricks fell flat against our united front.
Next time she rang wailing, Im dying, you must come straight away! Simon simply replied: Mum, Ill ring 999 for you. If youre taken in, Ill visit. If not, have a cup of tea and get some sleep.
Amazingly, the end didnt come.
What I really learned is this: boundaries matter. Even with your own family. If you dont, youll end up living a life written by someone else. And sometimes, you do need to pack a suitcase and disappear to Hull for a month. Sometimes, its the best decision you can make.
