I Refused to Babysit My Grandchildren All Summer – and My Daughter Threatened to Put Me in a Care Home

Author Walton MerrittReading 15 minViews 3

Mum, are you serious? What do you mean, spa retreat? Youre going to Bath for three weeks? Our flights to Spain are next Wednesday! Do you realise youre costing us hundreds of pounds?

Amelia stood in her mums tiny kitchen, her voice rising to a sharp pitch as she paced. She brushed past the table without noticing, nearly knocking her hip. Margaret Bennett sat on her favourite stool, hands clamped so tightly her knuckles had gone white. She looked at her daughter, so furious, so polishedwhere was the little Millie whose hair she used to plait every morning?

Millie, please dont shout, Margaret said quietly. My blood pressures playing up. I told you back in February that I needed to focus on my health this summer. My knees ache, and I can barely manage the stairs anymore. The GP said a spa would do me wonders. Ive been saving since last Christmas. Why should I call it all off now?

Because were family! snapped Amelia, coming to a halt and planting her manicured hands on her hips. Grandmothers are meant to help with grandchildren! So youd rather lounge about in some fancy spa while me and Mark slog our guts out? We havent had a holiday in a year, Mum. Not one. Found an amazing hotel, but we cant afford to take the kids with us, and we just want a proper break for once. No chasing after them on the beach. Youll have to take them to the cottage, and thats final.

Margaret sighed deeply. That and thats final had become Amelias favourite phrase over the last ten years. First, it was Mum, youll have to watch Henry so I can go back to work, weve got the mortgage to pay off. Then, Mum, now Ive had Emily, youll need to mind bothwell, youre experienced. And Margaret had done itput everything else aside, dropped round at a moments notice, nursed them through chickenpox, ferried them to piano lessons. But Henry was twelve now and Emily was ninetwo whirlwinds whod tear her old garden shed to pieces within a week. She could barely hobble as far as the strawberry patch these days.

I just cant, Millie, Margaret said calmly, looking Amelia square in the eyes. Physically, I cant manage. They need someone who can cycle with them, take them swimming, play football. I can barely keep up. It wouldnt be safe, and if anything happened, Id never forgive myself. My trips paid for. Train tickets are booked. I leave on the first of June.

Amelia fell silent, fixing her mum with a cold, appraising stare that sent a shiver up Margarets spine. The hush in the kitchen was broken only by the rattle of the ancient Indesit fridge.

So, your health comes before your grandchildren? Amelia enunciated slowly. You care more about yourself than your own family?

Im just trying to look after myself, Millie. For the first time in sixty-five years. Is that so terrible?

Amelia abruptly changed tackher voice now calm, but colder than before. She sat on the chair opposite, crossing her legs and smoothing her skirt. Lets be adults, Mum. You live alone in a three-bedroom flat, slap in the city centre, while Mark and the kids and I squeeze into a poky two-bed on the edge of town and scrape together for the mortgage and car payments. Do you know how hard it is for us? And here you are, swanning about in your palace, making demands.

That flat was my parents before meand I worked for every stick of furniture, dont forget, Margaret replied. And I did help youremember your mortgage deposit? That was Dads shed I sold.

Oh, come on, that was peanuts! Amelia waved her hand dismissively. Listen, Mum. If you jet off to your little spa break and hang us out to dry, then Ill draw my own conclusions. Clearly, youre just an old, frail, feeble woman who cant even look after her own family. If thats the case, maybe its not safe for you to live alone anymoreis it? You might forget to turn the gas off, leave the taps running

Margarets heart skipped a beat. What are you saying?

Im not hinting, Mum, Im telling. There are some very nice assisted living homes nowadaysluxury ones, NHS ones. Meals all ready, nurses on call, no worries. If you cant cope as a gran, that doesnt look good. I could easily tell the council youre getting forgetfulyouve lost track of things, maybe not safe on your own. There are tests, you know; could be a bit of dementia. Trust me, I have friends in the trade.

Get out, Margaret whispered.

What?

I said, GET OUT! she screamed, leaping off her stool, a burst of strength flooding her. Leave! And dont bring the children round here again. I know exactly what Im doing with my own life, and this is my home!

Amelia stood, wrinkling her nose at the kitchen.

Fine, scream away. Have a funny turn and well take you to A&E, get it all on record. Youve got until tomorrow, Mum. Either you take Henry and Emily all summerand we never speak of this againor I start the process of getting power of attorney. And you know Im persistentI get it from you.

The door slammed. Margaret collapsed onto her stool, shaking so hard she couldnt pour herself a glass of water. Tears stung her eyes. How could it come to this? Where had her gentle little girl gone?

For the rest of the evening, Margaret sat in the dark, thoughts restless as flighty birds. She pictured a care homebeige walls, the whiff of Dettol and boiled veg, strangers, security grills on the windows. That threat was very real. And Mark was just as likely to keep his head down and go along with Amelia.

She barely slept. But at dawn, as the first sunbeams slipped through the dusty curtains, anger, cool and clear, took root. Shed always lived for othersher late husband, her daughter, her job. Shed been scared to upset anyone, always the peacemaker. And look where it had left her: her kindness mistaken for weakness.

In the morning, she took her medicine, put on her best suit, grabbed her folder of deeds, and headed not to the doctors, but to a solicitors.

The young lawyer listened gravely, then smiled reassuringly. Mrs Bennett, theres no way they can force you out of your home or into a residential home unless a court declares you incapable. That requires assessments, hearings, specialiststakes months. Youre fine, youre lucid, you own your flat. Best thing now? Get a doctors note saying youre in sound minditll back you up. And you may want to reconsider any will or powers of attorney naming your daughter for now.

Margaret walked out feeling as if a ton had been lifted from her shoulders. She went straight to a private clinic, saw a consultant psychiatrist, and got a signed letterno signs of dementia or mental illness. She also moved some of her savings into a separate account AmalAmelia didnt know about.

By lunchtime she was home. Her phone flashed with calls from Amelia, but Margaret ignored them. She opened her battered old suitcase, the one shed taken to Cornwall with her late husband, and started packing: summery dresses, a swimsuit, comfy sandals, books.

That evening came the knock at the doorinsistent. Margaret glanced through the peephole: Amelia, alone.

She opened the door, chain across.

Mum, why arent you answering your phone? Were worried! Let me in. Ive got the childrens bagstheyll be round first thing.

You wont be bringing them over, Millie, Margaret said calmly through the gap. Im leaving tomorrow.

Leaving? Where? We agreedremember what I said about a care home?

I remember. Which is why today I went to a solicitorand got a doctors note. She pushed a photocopy through the gap.

Amelia read aloud: No evidence of dementia, mentally fit. Youve been running around collecting documents? Are you serious?

Im deadly serious. And Ive also spoken to the solicitor about defamation, and attempts to remove me from my property. Also called in at the notary. Im consideringjust consideringsigning my flat to a retired peoples charity, in return for a lifetime income and legal help if anyone tries to push me into care.

Amelia went pale. She knew her mother didnt make idle threats.

Mumyou cant! Youd disinherit your only daughter?

And my only daughter would put me in a care home for a holiday in Spain? Margaret shot back. Anyway, Im going to Bath tomorrow for three weeks. Ive left keys with our neighbour, Mrs Hall. Shell water the plants. You wont be getting keys. Ive changed the locks, just in case.

You changed the locks? gasped Amelia. Mum, youre losing the plot!

Just safety, Millie. I dont want to find youve moved in and cleared me out when I get back. I love my grandchildrenbut Im not your unpaid servant. You want a break, hire a nanny, send the kids to a camp, take a loan. Or dont go. Thats your responsibility, as parents.

Margaret began closing the door, but Amelia stuck her foot out.

Mum, wait! Sorryreally! I was out of order yesterday. Its work, stress, this whole wretched tripif I cancel now, the fees are brutal. Please, help us! Take the children, pleasetheyll behave, I promise! Ill give them tablets, theyll sit still the whole time.

No, Amelia. My decision stands. Please remove your footI need to rest before my trip.

Amelia stared at her mother, face flickering between anger, hurt, and perhapsrespect? No, just fear. Fear of losing her inheritance.

Finego off to your precious spa, then! she spat, stepping back. Just dont expect us to roll out the welcome wagon for you! And dont expect any help when you go downhill, either!

Thats fine. Ill rely on myselfand my lawyers. Goodbye, Millie. Safe flights.

The door shut with a solid thud. Margaret drew every bolt and latch. Her heart thudded, her hands trembled, but her spirit soared. She had won. Shed stood her ground.

The following morning dawned bright for Margaret, dressed in her neatest attire, with her wheelie suitcase, as she waited for the taxi outside her block. Marks car idled outside the neighbouring building, his gaze fixed on her window. He looked away when he saw herobviously under orders not to speak.

The train whooshed towards the West Country. Wildflowers and hedgerows blurred in the sun. Margaret sipped tea from a rail buffet cup, listening to the steady click of wheels, tension melting away with every mile. Her companion, Jean, was also bound for Bathalso for a restorative stay.

I told my lot straight off, Jean was saying, spreading butter on her roll. Weekends are fine, but I dont play au pair. If Im tired, I say so. At first they were put out, then they respected it. We need our lives, dont we?

Exactly, said Margaret. Sometimes drastic measures are required, though.

Three weeks in Bath flew by. Spa treatments, gentle walks, theatre, that healing city air. Margarets cheeks glowed, her back straightened, her knees eased up. She made friends, even took in a play with a retired Colonel from the next building. She started to remember that she was a person in her own right, not just someone ticking boxes for her family.

She switched her phone on only rarely. Amelias messages trickled in: at first, outragedYouve ruined our holiday; had to pay extra for the children, now were in even more debt!followed by pleadingHenrys come down with something, we both need to work,and finally, curt: When are you back?

Margaret always replied briefly: Get well soon or Ill be home on the 25th.

Returning was slightly nerve-wracking. What would she findsiege, screaming matches, changed locks (though all her deeds were in her handbag)?

Her flat smelled musty and faintly of polish. Mrs Hall had remembered the plants. On the kitchen table, a note: Amelia came twice, wanted the keys, claimed a leak. I checked with the plumberno leak, alls fine. Hang in there, Margaret! Mrs Hall.

Margaret smiled. Good old Mrs Hall.

That evening, Amelia turned up. No warning. No drama, either. She called at the door. Margaret opened it. Her daughter looked tired, tanned, and utterly worn out.

Hi, she muttered, stepping inside. Back, are you?

I am, Margaret replied. Tea?

Amelia sank into the same chair as during their row.

How was it? Margaret filled the kettle.

Cost a fortune with the kids. We had to switch hotels, proper downgrade. Marks furious, had to get another loan.

Wellat least the children saw the sea. It did them good.

Silence. Amelia toyed with her cup.

Mum did you really see the notary about the charity?

I did.

Anddid you sign it over?

Not yet. It depends how things go.

Amelias eyes filled with tears.

Mum, dont. Were not strangers. I lost my head. You know how I amwhen Im at the end of my tether I say rubbish. Id never put you in a home. I just wanted you to say yes. I panicked.

Terrible way to go about it, Millie. Blackmailing your own mum destroys trust. Dont be surprised if I keep a closer eye on you from now on.

Stop! Please, Mum. And Amelia began to cry, wiping her nose on a tissue. I just expected you to always say yes. You always step in. But when you said no, I panicked. Im sorry.

Margaret patted her on the shoulder. The worst was past, just a dull sadness left.

I didnt rebel, Millie. I just wanted you to remember Im a person, too. Im happy to helpbut not at the expense of my own life, and never because Im ordered. Call me, check in first; if I feel able, Ill take them. If not youll manage.

Okay, Mum. I get it.

And you wont have my spare keys anymore. Visits only.

Amelia nodded, dabbing her cheeks.

Are you really changing your will?

No, love. Not for now. But the flats only yours after Im goneand I dont plan to rush. The doctor at Bath said my hearts as strong as a forty-year-olds.

They drank tea together. The conversation was awkwardno warmth, but no war, either. Just a cool truce. Amelia promised to bring the kids on Sunday, only for an hour or sojust for pancakes, and well collect them.

Margaret locked up behind her, then stood by the window as the citys lights came on. She felt like a ships captain, battered by storms but firmly at the helm. Crew unsettled, sails tornbut she was in charge.

That Sunday, the grandchildren arrived, sun-kissed and taller.

Gran, we saw a jellyfish! Emily yelled. And Dad got sunburnt!

They munched pancakes, rattled on about Spain. Amelia sat quietly, not bossy or critical for once. After two hours, she whisked them away.

Thanks, Mum. Weve got a pile of schoolwork for them.

When the door finally closed, Margaret settled in her favourite chair, flicked on her reading lamp, and opened her book. It felt good. Lonely? A little. But it was a contented, proud kind of lonelinessa woman whod proved her worth. She understood now: you didnt have to make yourself small to be loved. And if you wanted respect, sometimes you had to show your teetheven if it was just with the right paperwork and knowing your rights.

That autumn, Margaret joined a swimming club and signed up for Active Living sessions at the local community centre. Life, as it turns out, doesnt end at sixty-fiveprovided you dont let someone else write your script.

Thank you for listening to my story. Id love to hear your own in the commentshave you ever had to stand up for your boundaries with your family?

Sent to the Care Home — Don’t you start with that nonsense, Alice, not a word of it! — Mrs. Gladys Thompson shoved away her bowl of porridge with surprising strength. — You want to pack me off to an institution, do you? So they can stick me with whatever they like and suffocate me with a pillow if I make a fuss? It won’t happen! Alice took a deep breath, trying not to look at her grandmother’s trembling hands. — Nan, what institution? It’s a private care home. It’s next to the woods, nurses are there round-the-clock. You’ll have company there, a huge telly to watch. Here, you’re alone all day while Dad’s at work. — That “company” rubbish, I know all about it — the old woman wheezed, settling back on her pillows. — They’ll rob me blind, take my flat, and chuck me in some ditch. Tell Paul straight: he’ll never get me out of my house alive. Let him look after me himself. He’s my son, isn’t he? Didn’t sleep a wink when he was sick with measles, now it’s his turn. — Dad’s working two jobs just to pay for your meds! He’s fifty-three, his blood pressure’s all over the place, not once been to the cinema in three years, let alone had a holiday! — He’ll manage, — Gladys clamped her lips shut. — Still young. And you watch your mouth. Children don’t tell their elders what to do. Go on, clean up that mess! Filth everywhere! Alice stepped into the hallway and exhaled noisily. How is she supposed to talk to her? Her father came home at seven. He sat down heavily on the footstool, staring at the floor. — Dad, you okay? — Alice took the heavy grocery bag from him. — Fine, love. Work’s stacked up at the warehouse, end-of-year coming. How’s Gran? — As usual. Another row about the care home, says we’re out to get rid of her. Dad, we can’t go on. After bills this month we’ve got three hundred quid for food. And I’ve got halls to pay for, plus books. — We’ll manage, — Paul heaved himself up, pulled off his shoes. — I took on another shift. Night security, every other night. — That’s mad! When will you sleep? You’ll collapse at this rate! He said nothing, just filled a saucepan and put it on the hob. — Has she eaten? — Half went on the bed. I changed the sheets. — Right. Go do your studying for exams. I’ll feed her, and sort her out. Alice watched her limping father go to her grandmother’s room. She pitied him terribly. She saw the man who once laughed and joked fade day by day. The jokes were gone; joy vanished from his eyes. *** A week later, things got worse — he came home late, clearly unsteady. — Dad? Are you ill? — I’m fine, Alice. Just dizzy on the Tube. Too stuffy. — Sit down. I’ll check your blood pressure. The monitor showed 180 over 110. Alice silently fetched the tablets. — Tomorrow you’re not going in. I’m calling the doctor. — I can’t — he winced. — Inspection tomorrow. If I’m not there, I’ll lose my bonus. And Mum’s council tax just went up. — Sell her flat, Dad! — Alice whispered, so Gran wouldn’t hear. — Sell her one-bed in Essex. Six hundred grand — that’s masses for us. Clear the debts, hire a proper carer. Dad sighed: — She won’t agree… — Dad, she’s not set foot in the place for five years! What’s the point if she’s bedbound? He didn’t answer — a loud bang sounded in the other room. Gladys was banging her mug for attention. — Paul! Paul, get in here! Who are you whispering with? Gossiping about me again? — her creaky voice echoed. Paul took the pill Alice offered and went. *** Six years ago, Dad had a girlfriend — Helen. Kind and calm, she visited, brought lemon drizzle cake, and they planned weekends away. It ended when Gran fell ill. Helen tried to help, but Gladys made her life hell. — Coming after my son, are you? — she’d shout, faking “heart attacks” every time Paul had a date. — Get rid of her! Out! So Helen left, and Dad didn’t even try to get her back. Later, when Alice was revising for exams, the house phone rang. Dad wasn’t home. — Hello? — Is that Paul Thompson? — a male voice asked. — No, this is his daughter. What’s happened? — This is HR. Your dad collapsed at work. Paramedics took him to City Hospital. Write down the address. Alice scrawled the details over her revision notes. No sooner had she hung up than Gran hollered for her. — Alice! Who was that? Where’s Paul? Hurry and bring some tea! Alice went in. Gran, mummified with pillows, scowled. — Dad’s in hospital, — Alice said tersely. — Hospital? — Gladys froze, then sneered: — Well, you lot have driven me to it! He shouted at me yesterday, and now God’s punished him. No one ever thinks of me! Who’s going to feed me now? Put that kettle on. Alice left in silence. *** For three days Alice scrambled between hospital and home. Doctors diagnosed Paul with a hypertensive crisis caused by chronic stress. They ordered strict bedrest. — Alice, how’s Mum? — he asked first thing when she visited. — She’s fine, Dad. Our neighbour’s checking in. You need to focus on yourself. At least a fortnight off. — Two weeks… I’ll get sacked… Money… — Sleep, — Alice tucked him in. — I’ll sort everything. I promise. On day four, when she got home, Gran greeted her with a barrage of nagging. — Where d’you wander to? I’m lying in filth, Paul’s lazing in hospital, and I’m left to rot! Alice balled her fists and spoke, steady and calm. — Listen, Nan. Dad’s very ill, next time could be a stroke. — Codswallop! — Gladys scoffed. — He’s tough. Takes after his dad. Come turn me, my side’s going numb. — No, — Alice sat down. — I’m not turning you. Or feeding you. Gladys stared at her in disbelief. — What’s this now? You lost your mind, girl? — No. There’s no money. None. Dad can’t work, no bonus coming. Your pension barely covers your medication. — Rubbish! Paul’s bound to have some savings. — No savings. It all went last month, on your hospital tests. So either sign to let us sell your Essex flat, or tomorrow I’ll ring Social Services — they’ll take you to a state home. Free. — You wouldn’t dare! — Gladys shouted. — I’m his mother! This is my home! — Your home? You’re destroying your son, and you don’t care if he never leaves hospital. All that matters is your comfort. I called the care home about a place. There’s one free now — money from your flat pays for it. The care there is excellent. — I’m not going, — Gladys began coughing. — Then starve. There’s no food money. I’m out working all day tomorrow. Water’s on your table. Up to you. Alice left, closing the door. She was shaking. She’d never been cruel, but knew now: unless she put a stop to this, she’d lose her dad. And Gran… would simply outlive them both if allowed to drain their lives away. The night was silent. Alice stayed out of the room, though she heard Gladys calling, sobbing, cursing. She entered only in the morning. — Some water… — the old woman croaked. Alice held up the cup. — Well? Are we signing? Solicitor arrives at noon. — Vultures… — Gladys rasped. — After everything… Fine. Write your papers. Tell Paul… tell him to visit. — He will. When he’s back on his feet. And I will, too. Promise. *** Paul sat on a bench in the care home’s park, looking much better — a little weight on, pinker cheeks. His mother sat nearby in her wheelchair — clean and wrapped in a new shawl, munching on an apple. — Paul? Paul, — she called. — Yes, Mum? — Did you ring Helen? Made it up, have you? Paul looked surprised. — I did. She’s coming on Saturday. — Good, — Gladys turned to the flowerbeds. — Let her come. There’s a nurse here, young Lena — very bossy, always telling me off. Let your Helen see how they treat me… And you mind how you treat her, Paul! Bad business when a man makes a woman cry. Your father… Paul smiled and squeezed her hand. Down the path ran Alice, waving, grinning from ear to ear. — Dad! Gran! — she yelled from afar. — I got the grant! And a raise at work! Paul stood with arms wide. Gladys watched them, narrowing her eyes. She still grumbled to herself about being forced from her home, but said nothing aloud. When the carer offered her a massage session, Gladys gave an imperious nod. — All right, dear, just careful — I’m a delicate woman, you know. Last time your masseur nearly broke my leg… You tell him to mind what he’s doing. Like a bear, honestly… The nurse wheeled her away. Alice hugged her father, and the two stood watching the tall pines. For the first time in ages, all three were truly happy. *** Gladys lived to meet her great-grandson — Alice graduated, married a decent man, and had a baby boy. Paul married Helen; Gladys grew close to her new daughter-in-law, even forgot the insults she’d once hurled. She passed away peacefully in her sleep, with no grudges left against her granddaughter or son.