Its been three long months now since my brother began pressing me about our mother. Ever since her stroke, shes not been quite herself. Most days, she seems lost and oblivious, and she can hardly be left alone. Looking after her is now rather like minding a small child. It never occurred to me, all those years ago when life seemed fixed and steady, that I would have to care for my own mother in such a way. I have my work, my home, and a family of my own. How does one possibly decide where to draw the line? I suggested a residential care home for her, but my brother was beside himself, accusing me of being heartless. Yet, he refuses to take her into his flathe lives with his wife, of course, and claims there isnt room.
Once upon a time, we were close. We were the perfect little English family of four. My brother Edward and I, born just a year apart, our parents already advanced in age when we arrived. Im thirty-six now, and Edwards thirty-five. Mother turns seventy-two this year. When our father was alive, all was well.
But after Fathers passing two years ago, everything changed. Mother succumbed to loneliness and grew suddenly frail; it was as if she aged a decade overnight. Her health rapidly declined, and six months past, the stroke nearly took her from us. The doctors here in London worked miracles, but she never really returned to us. Physically, she improvedthough it took some timebut mentally, shes become so different.
The physicians spoke of lasting consequences. I realised I had no choice but to care for her myself. My husband Charles and I moved back into her old flat in Richmond. I left my office position and took up freelance work from home, so I could remain nearby. We couldnt risk leaving her on her own for even an hour. There was no peace: wed chase after her when she tried to wander off, try to coax her home when she insisted she needed to find her lost husband. Shed fret, sobbing for a man long gone. My sleep is broken, and my attention is scatteredwork feels impossible.
Charles proposed we consider a care home. They demanded quite a sumthousands of pounds a month, as is the way in England nowbut between us, and if Edward contributed too, we could just about manage. It seemed fair enough.
It took some time before I could bring myself to it, but eventually, I realised we couldnt go on like this. At least, in a home, shed have proper care and medical attention. I did my research and found a reputable place, though the cost nearly made my heart stop. There was no avoiding it.
I rang Edward and explained everything, hoping hed see the reason in my decision. Instead, he erupted.
Are you out of your mind, Amelia? How could you even think of sending our mother to a home with strangers? You know what theyre like in those places! Youre being cruel, he shouted. Or are you simply trying to get rid of her so you can have the flat?
I attempted to explain myself, but he wouldnt listen. It went on and on, until I realised how exhausted I truly was. I raised the subject again later, but he refused to budge.
I could never do that to Mum, he insisted. She raised us, kept us at homeshe never complained, did she? Now its our turn. She deserves better.
I was only asking him to help share the burden. If he didnt agree with my plan, he could always take Mum in himselfshow everyone that wonderful kindness he kept preaching about.
You know perfectly well, I live with the in-laws in their flat in Oxford. My wifes not going to look after my mother!
So it’s fair for my husband to care for her, but not your wife? I replied, my temper rising. Were all her children, Edward. But you want me to carry it alone.
Edward hesitated, muttered that he was working all hours, and claimed I just wanted to shirk my responsibilities.
There is no way to properly describe the waking nightmare I now live. Part of me wants, desperately, to put Mum in a care homelife would be easier for everyone. And still, guilt clings to me. I wonder if that makes me an ungrateful daughter. Charles supports my decision; he wants us to move forward with our own lives while Mum receives proper attention in a safe place.
So Ive decided to give it another week. If Edward doesnt step forward, then Ill have to make the arrangements myself. It will be kinder for everyone, I think. Loved ones can offer endless advice, but in the end, only those who have carried the weight truly know what its like to care for a sick family member. My brother can make his own excuses for his friendsIve no energy for them any longer.
