Living with My 86-Year-Old Mum: My Unmarried Life at 57 Filled with Quiet Evenings, Shared Teatimes, And Our Simple Joys Together

Author Emily TaylorReading 2 minViews 2

I have lived with my mother for as long as I can remember. My dear mother is now 86 years old.

Fate had it that I never married, nor did I have children. Life has unfolded strangely for me. I am now 57, having only just celebrated another birthday. We marked the occasion simply, just the two of usmy mother and I. There was no one else to invite. I have no close friends, and neither of us has any remaining family.

We share a home and have always been each others support. My mother, at 86, remains in good spirits. I sometimes wonder what life will be like when shes gone, but remarkably, she keeps well. Though age has slowed her and her health declines a little more each year, she does not give in easily. She even enjoys going for walks in the neighbourhood by herself.

I have already retired, yet I continue to work a bit, as our pensions dont quite stretch far enough to provide for a truly comfortable life. Even so, I do not let it dampen my spirits. I am grateful every day to have my dear mother with me. There are those much less fortunatesome who have neither a home nor family nor enough money to get by.

Mum and I live quietly and peacefully. In the evenings, we share a pot of tea, spend time knitting, or watch our favourite British films and TV shows. At weekends, I like to bake cakes, inviting our neighbours round for a treat. They tell stories of their own relations, and I find joy in hearing about others happiness. I always hope that my mother and I might be spared from hardship.

This is how we have lived our days. I wish with all my heart that this lifesimple and gentlemight last as long as possible for both my mother and me.

Dandelion Jam Winter’s blanket of snow finally melted, leaving behind a softness that made spring’s arrival all the more welcome. The town was waking up—you could tell by the bustle at the market and the cheerful flutter of birds outside windows. Taissia, a long-time resident of her old block of flats, watched from the third floor, eager for sunshiny days, the riot of colour, and the freedom from heavy coats. Spring suited Taissia. She lived with her granddaughter, Vera, ever since Vera’s parents left for a doctor’s contract in Africa: “We trust you with our little Vera. She’s happier with you, Mum.” Taissia had laughed, promising to make the most of retirement with her sprightly granddaughter. The day unfolded with its familiar rhythm: breakfast, school, chores. Outside, her neighbours had already claimed the bench beneath the budding trees—Mrs Simmons, whose real age was as mysterious as her sharp wit, and Valentine, the loud, joyous bookworm, always in friendly opposition to Simmons’s grumbling. The bench was never empty once the sun came out, and these two were its loyal sentinels, keeping an eye on everyone and everything. Taissia sometimes joined in, gossiping about what she’d read, sharing news from TV, enduring Simmons’s health complaints. But today she popped to the shops, promising Vera a sweet treat for good marks. After school, Vera practised her dance moves, which made Taissia beam with pride. In the evening, she waited for Vera outside, joined by their neighbour, Mr George Elliot from downstairs, who always greeted the spring with a poet’s soul, likening the golden dandelions to tiny suns. Vera, ever the bundle of energy, startled her grandmother with mischief, and Taissia gathered her up for dinner—grated carrots sugared just right and her favourite homemade cutlets. George lingered too, tempted by the mention of cutlets, and hinted at a walk later. By and by, Taissia found herself back on the bench with George, sharing quiet moments now that Simmons and Valentine had retired for the evening. These gentle evenings became habit, strolling to the nearby park, reading magazines, exchanging life stories and recipes. George’s life had not been easy. Widowed young, he raised his daughter, Vera, alone, working late into every night. Vera grew up, moved away, married, had a son, then divorced and raised her boy alone. Visits became rare and strained. One afternoon, George shared news—Vera was coming. Taissia was optimistic, but George doubted: “She wants something, I’m sure.” Vera arrived, all business. She pressed George to sell his flat and move in with her, sharing space with her and her son—a practical solution, but George recoiled, preferring his independent, familiar staple of life. Vera, relentless, learned of her father’s friendship with Taissia and visited, tea and sweets on offer. But her words cut sharp: “Convince him to sell the flat, it’s wasted on one old man. Surely you’re not after it for yourself or your granddaughter?” Accusations flew, harsh words rang out, and Vera stormed away. Taissia was mortified, worried what the neighbours must have heard. For days, she avoided George, ducking inside when she saw him. Yet, as fate would have it, she met George outside the building, making dandelion chains. “Don’t run off,” he pleaded, offering her the half-finished chain. “Sorry for my daughter. I’ve spoken to her—she’s left, and says she has no father now. But I wanted to give you this. I’ve made dandelion jam. It’s delicious—and healthy too,” he smiled, “and dandelion makes a fine salad.” That evening they shared dandelion salad and tea with spoonfuls of his homemade jam. Taissia loved it. Later, they walked together under their favourite linden tree, magazine in hand, laughter rising softly into the spring air. It was just the two of them, their worries forgotten, sharing stories and sweet dandelion jam. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and supporting me. Wishing you all the best in life!

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Find local WIC office: fns.usda.gov/wic

Living with My 86-Year-Old Mum: My Unmarried Life at 57 Filled with Quiet Evenings, Shared Teatimes, And Our Simple Joys Together