Granny Anne sat on a small bench outside the old house where she had spent her entire life. It no longer belonged to her; she lived there at the kindness of others. Anne couldn’t quite grasp how things had come to this. She had lived a decent life, never wished harm upon anyone, and raised her only son.
But her son didn’t turn out the way she had hoped… Anne sat reminiscing, sorting through the pieces of her life, tears quietly streaming down her cheeks. Her memories began with her wedding to her beloved John. A year later, their son Paul was born. There was hope again with the birth of twins, a boy and a girl, but they were frail and didn’t survive a week. Shortly after, John died from an undiagnosed appendicitis that led to peritonitis.
Anne grieved deeply for her husband, but life carried on despite her sorrow. She never remarried, fearing a stepfather might make things difficult for her Paul. So, she devoted herself entirely to caring for her son.
Paul eventually chose his own path, moving to the city. He found a career, married, and carried on his life. Granny Anne remained in the small house John had built just after their marriage, living there into her old age. Paul visited occasionally to chop wood or carry water, lending a helping hand. But each year, it grew harder for Anne to manage the place alone. She kept only a goat and some chickens, yet even they required care.
One day, Paul arrived with a stranger.
“Hello, Mum,” he greeted.
“Hello, Paul.”
“This is my friend James,” continued Paul. “He’s interested in buying your house. It’s time for you to come live with me in the city.”
Granny Anne was taken aback, her knees giving way as she sat abruptly.
“Don’t worry, Mum. My wife’s on board with this plan. We’ll take care of you there, you’ll be warm, well-fed, and help with the grandkids. They’re already asking when Grandma Annie will arrive.”
Decisions had been made for Anne. What choice did she have? She could no longer manage everything herself, but perhaps she could look after the grandchildren.
***************
And so, Granny Anne’s house was sold quickly and without a fuss. She spent a long time saying goodbye to each corner that held a memory for her. As she stood in the quiet backyard, her heart ached for the past – for the cow’s lowing, the pigs’ grunting, the goat’s bleating, and the chickens’ clucking, now replaced by silence.
Returning from the garden, she grasped a handful of the soil she had worked tirelessly over the years. Parting with her village, where she was born and lived her whole life, was profoundly difficult. Neighbors wept as they bid her farewell, promising to pray for her well-being in the new chapter of her life.
She took one last look at her home and walked to her son’s car. What else could she do? This was bitter old age…
Initially, living with her son was pleasant. The apartment had no stove or livestock; everything was automated and within arm’s reach. Grandma Annie played with her grandchildren and watched TV.
Soon, with the money from the house sale, her son bought a new car. Anne expressed concern about spending the money so hastily, but Paul curtly cut her off, making it clear she shouldn’t concern herself with such matters. She lived in comfort, after all, and that should be enough.
Anne never raised the topic again, though her son’s harsh words lingered painfully. She also noticed that once the car was purchased, her son and daughter-in-law’s behavior toward her noticeably changed, and even the grandchildren grew less obedient and cheerful.
Their family no longer paid attention to Granny Anne. No one seemed to care whether she’d eaten, slept well, or felt unwell.
Things only got worse: she was often excluded from meals, hardly spoken to, and sharply rebuked if she did something wrong. Life became hard for Anne. Had she known she would become unwanted so soon, she never would have agreed to sell the house and move away. She would rather have faced the cold and hunger in her own home than live in her son’s luxury and feel less than a stranger.
Anne mourned for her home daily. If she could, she would return to the village without a second thought. But the house was sold, and others lived there now.
One day, unable to bear it any longer, she confronted her son.
“I never imagined, Paul, that my old age would be so bitter in your house. It seems money mattered more to you than your own mother. I’m leaving you, all of you…”
Her son cast his eyes down and said nothing. As Anne, with her meager belongings packed, stood at the threshold of the apartment, Paul called after her:
“If the world gets too harsh, Mum, you can come back.”
Anne silently closed the door and let her tears flow as she made her way down the stairs. It hurt deeply that her son didn’t try to stop her, comfort her, or offer any kind words, but only showed her the door.
***************
More than a day passed as Granny Anne journeyed back to her village. She spent nights at the station, catching rides with strangers, her eyes wet with tears the entire time. Calmed only by the sight of what used to be her home, she noticed the new occupants had fixed it up, painted it, and it looked almost like it did when she moved in with her John.
The fact that the house was no longer hers didn’t cross Anne’s mind. She snuck up to the loft of the pigsty and decided she would live there. As long as she was within those familiar walls.
Her only fear was that the new owners would find her and throw her out, much like her own son had. Then she would truly have nowhere to go unless the ground opened up beneath her.
Anne’s hiding didn’t last long. The next morning, the owner himself came to feed the pigs. He poured out their food, looked up, and said:
“Come down, Granny Anne, we need to talk.”
She hadn’t expected to be discovered so soon and wasn’t sure what to do. But she had to face the new owners – come what may! It was all in God’s hands.
What she heard from the new owner took her completely by surprise:
“Granny Anne,” said James, speaking calmly and kindly, the same James Paul had introduced her to long ago. “My wife and I know about your situation. Your son informed us you might show up. We also understand that you struggled to fit into his family. After careful thought, we want to offer you a place here with us. It doesn’t sit right for you to live in a pigsty. And after all, this was your house. You and your husband built it, cared for it over the years. There’s always room for its true mistress! Please, warm yourself, clean up, and join us for a meal. My wife makes an excellent stew!”
Anne had never expected such a twist of fate. She began to cry again, but this time, they were tears of gratitude to these new occupants who showed her more compassion and kindness than her own son had.
Crossing the threshold of the house, Granny Anne barely managed to stand. Everything smelled of her life. She understood that because of her own son, she had become homeless in her own home. Her old heart wept as her lips prayed for God’s mercy upon Paul.
