June 9th
I found myself sitting alone on the bench in the hospital gardens, tears blurring my vision. Today I turned seventy, but neither my son nor my daughter visited or even called to wish me a happy birthday.
At least my roommate, Mary Richardson, offered a warm Happy Birthday and a little gift to mark the day. Even Carol, the kind cleaning lady, brought me an apple with a cheerful Many happy returns. The residential home is respectable enough, but most of the staff keep their distance, doing only what they must.
Everyone here knows why were brought to places like this: the children want their lives back and the old become a burden. My own son said he was sending me here to have a rest and get a bit of treatment, but in truth, I was only in my daughter-in-laws way.
The flat was mine to begin withuntil my son persuaded me to sign it over to him. He promised nothing would change, that I could keep living there as I always had. But things changed quickly. The whole family moved in, and almost instantly, I found myself at war with my daughter-in-law. She was forever displeased: dinners cooked wrongly, the bathroom left in a mess, countless complaints. My son used to stand up for me, but in time he changedhe started to snap at me too. Then they began whispering, stopping abruptly whenever I entered the room.
One morning, my son brought up the idea of resting somewhere for a bit. I looked him in the eyes, my heart heavy and asked, Are you sending me to a home, son? He looked embarrassed and stammered, No, Mum, its just a convalescent place. Youll only be there a month, then well take you home, promise. He rushed me into the car, had me sign a pile of papers, and left quickly, saying hed visit soon.
He only came oncebrought a couple of apples, a bag of oranges, asked how I was, and left before I could really say. I’ve been here nearly two years now.
When that first month passed and still no sign of him, I called the house. A stranger answered. It turned out my son had sold the flat, and no one knew where hed gone. I cried for a few nights, but after a while, tears seemed pointlessI knew theyd never take me back. Worst of all, I realised Id once wronged my daughter for my sons sake.
I was born in a village and married Tom Barclay, my childhood friend. We had a big house, animalsdidnt have much, but we got by. One year, a city friend visited and filled Toms head with ideas: life was grand in the city, good pay, housing sorted. Tom insisted, so we sold everything and moved. To his credit, the council gave us a flat right away. We scraped up enough for some furniture and even managed a used Ford. Tom died in a crash with that car.
After the funeral, it was just me and the children. I scrubbed stairwells at night to keep us fed and clothed, hoping my children would look after me one day. But, as ever, life turned out differently.
My son got into some troubleI had to borrow a good sum of money to keep him out of jail, then years to repay the debt. My daughter Rachel married, had a child. For a while, things were fine, but then her son fell ill. She had to leave work to care for him, the doctors struggled to diagnose what was wrong. Turned out, he had a rare condition only one London specialist could treatthere were endless waiting lists. As Rachel trekked back and forth to hospitals, her husband left, but thankfully he let them keep the flat.
She eventually met a widower in hospitala man whose daughter suffered from the same illness as her boy. They grew close and moved in together. Years later, he needed an operation and Rachel asked me for help. I had some savingsmeant for my son to put towards a deposit on a new place. When Rachel asked, I refused, thinking my boy needed it more. She was so hurt. She told me I wasnt her mother anymore and to never turn to her if I found myself in need.
We havent spoken in twenty years.
Rachel nursed her husband back to health and they moved with the children to the coast. Of course, if I could rewind the years, Id choose differently. But whats done is done.
Rising from the bench, I slowly made my way back to the home when I heard a voice:
Mum!
My heart stopped. I turned. Rachel. My legs went weak and I nearly fainted, but she rushed over and held me up.
At last, Ive found you Your brother wouldnt give me the address. I had to threaten him with court for selling the flat illegally before he quieted down
Together, we went inside and sat in the lounge.
Forgive me, Mum, for being away so long. At first, I was angry. Then years went by, and I was simply ashamed to write. Last week, you came to me in a dreamlost in a forest, weeping. I woke with a heavy heart, told my husband everything. He told me, Go see her. Make it right. I went to your old address, found strangers there. Took me ages to track down your brothers contact. Now, here I am. Come on, pack upyoure coming to live with us. You should see our house. Its right on the seafront. My husband says if my mother is ever in trouble, shes to stay with us.
I clung to Rachel, sobbingbut this time, they were tears of happiness.
Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.
