Im 50 now, and I still live with my parentsor rather, just my fatherever since I found out I was expecting. My sons 20 these days. I have a brother and a sister, both with homes of their own. My elder brother is a solicitor, while my little sister is married and settled with her husband. For years now, Ive had a decent enough income to get a place of my own, or even to buy Dads house outright. Ive tried, genuinely tried, but for one reason or another it never quite works out with the paperwork. The only thing I insist on, if we ever sort that sale, is that the house stays in Dads name for as long as he lives. I want him to know hell never be without a roof over his head, or my protection. But thats still unresolved.
Dads over 70 now, blunt as you like, sometimes even a bit sharp. Its not that he doesnt want to do more, its just that age is catching up with him, as it does with everyone. Hes been a widower for four years, living with the ache my mum left behind.
Both my son and I work; between us, we cover most of the billsutilities, groceries, day-to-day food. Dad adds a bit when his pension comes in, but hes become quite thrifty and, truthfully, a touch suspicious. My brother pops in for about half an hour every six months or so. My sisterwho doesnt workhelps out with bits of cooking and keeps an eye on Dad when were at our jobs, though we pay her something for her trouble, just to acknowledge her time.
These days, if foods ready but we dont set his plate, Dad simply wont eat. He hardly does anything about the house anymore, unless its the odd bit of fussing with my dog, watching videos, or catching up on his sleep. He worries most about running low on candles here and at the cemetery and, of course, about my dog. Shes the spoilt granddaughter, always curled up in bed beside him while he naps.
Now and again, I do grumble. Sometimes all the household expensesfood, bills, what have youfall squarely on my shoulders. But then I remind myself how lucky I am that I can still care for Dad, keep him company, stay up chatting and laughing together, or watch the way he dotes on my son and his dog. He gave me everything from my first breath; its my turn to pay him back, with the same love and devotion that he once poured into methrough my care, my money, my time, my attention.
Some people suggest I should get a place of my own. But I wont, and I know I never will, as long as Dads here. Who else will watch out for him if anything happens late at night, or at any hour really? The thought of him left alone, surrounded only by memories and longing, or him going off to the shops just to risk a fallit just breaks my heart. Sometimes he does venture out, but we keep track, and we go with him to appointments, like when hes got to see the GP. I couldnt bear the guilt or worry, after all hes done for me.
Hes many thingsthrifty, sometimes curt, often grumpy, sometimes bright, at other times dispirited or anxiousbut above all, hes my dad. Everything I am is thanks to him (and Mum, of course).
What will I leave my son when Im gone? Ill leave him a work ethic, resilience, his education, my examplehopefully the best I can offerand maybe, if things turn out as I hope, Granddads house somewhere in Surrey. But only on one condition: as long as Dad lives, the house remains his, even if Im the one footing the bill.
