Im 50 years old now, and Ive been living at my parents house ever since I fell pregnant. My sons a grown man of twenty. I have an older brother and a younger sister, both with their own places. My brother, Henry, is a solicitor, and my sister, Emily, is married, living with her husband not far from here. For years, Ive had enough income to get a place of my own or even buy my fathers house. I have tried, honestly, but the paperwork has always fallen through at the last hurdle one reason or another crops up every time. The only stipulation Ive ever insisted on is that, if I do buy the house, its to remain in my fathers name for as long as he lives it gives him peace of mind, knowing hell always have a roof over his head, and that I wont cast him aside. Even so, we havent made a decision yet.
Dads well into his seventies now, a direct, no-nonsense sort of man, sometimes painfully blunt. Its not that he doesnt want to do things, he just cant anymore it happens to all of us eventually. Its been four years since we lost Mum, and hes still learning to live with the space she left behind.
My son and I both work, and together we take care of most of the household expenses bills, food, day-to-day bits. Dad chips in from his pension when he can, but hes got rather frugal, perhaps a bit suspicious with money these days. My brother pops in for a quick half-hour visit once every six months. Emily doesnt work and helps us out by coming over to cook and keep Dad company while were at work, and we slip her a small bit of money as a thank you.
Dad, even now, wont go and eat unless one of us puts the plate in front of him. He doesnt do much around the house mostly watches telly, dozes, or sometimes has a little play with my dog, Maisie, who gets spoiled rotten. He worries more than anything about running out of candles at home or at Mums grave and, of course, about Maisie, his granddaughter, lounging in her bed as he rests in his chair.
Sometimes, I grumble about taking on most of the responsibility for the bills, the shopping, the food. But then I remember how lucky I am to still be able to care for Dad, to sit and chat with him some evenings, to laugh together, to see the way he lights up when my son or Maisies around. He gave me everything as I grew up, and now its only right that I repay him with the same love and dedication with my time, energy, and whatever else I can give.
People sometimes tell me I should find a place of my own, strike out and move on. But I couldnt do it. Who would be here for Dad if something happened in the night or any time? The thought of him alone with nothing but his memories, or slipping on the pavement going to the shops on his own I couldnt bear the guilt after all hes done for me. We always keep an eye out when he leaves the house and take him to appointments, just in case.
Hes not perfect he can be stubborn, sharp, grumpy, or sentimental by turns but hes my father. I owe so much of who I am today to him (and Mum, rest her soul).
When my time comes, what will I leave my son? Ill give him a work ethic, the ability to keep going when things get tough, a good education, and hopefully a life lived by example the best example I can be. And perhaps, if all goes according to plan, hell have the family home too but not until his granddad is gone, because so long as Dads alive, it will always be his.
If theres one thing Ive learnt, its that love and loyalty come before comfort or convenience. I wouldnt trade these days, for all their troubles, for anything else.
