My brother has refused both to let Mother move in with him and to consider a care homehe insists theres simply no room!
For the past three months, my brother and I have argued constantly about whats best for our mother. Since her stroke, shes not been herself. She forgets things constantly and cant be left alone, needing round-the-clock attention. The responsibility has fallen squarely on my shoulders. It feels much like looking after a small child, except I have my own work, house, and family to consider. How could I possibly be in two places at once? I suggested a residential care home, but my brother was livid, accusing me of heartlessness. Yet, he refuses to take her in, living as he does in his wifes flat.
We were once a close-knit, typical four-person English family. My brother, David, is just a year younger than I amhes thirty-five now, Im thirty-six. Our parents were older when they had us, and until Father passed away, life seemed quite ordinary.
Afterwards, David moved to another city for university, settled there, and married. I remained in our hometown, Lichfield, where I eventually married and rented a flat with my husband, Philip, planning to buy our own home and have childrena familiar dream for many.
Its just been two years since my father died. Mother became terribly lonely without him, growing quieter and seemingly older overnight. She was already unwell, and half a year ago suffered a stroke. We didnt think shed survive. At first, she could barely speak and had trouble moving. Gradually, she recovered some mobility, but her mind wasnt the same.
Doctors solemnly told us her condition was irreversible. I had no choice but to care for her. Philip and I moved into Mothers house and I left my job, taking up freelance work so I could be nearby. She couldnt be left alonenot at all. Even when her body regained strength, daily life didnt improve.
Mother mumbled to herself, wandered off, and we had to chase after her just to get her home. She would sob, insisting my father was waiting somewhere nearby. It wasnt much of a life; I hardly slept, always terrified shed disappear. My work sufferedI couldnt focus on anything. Philip suggested the care home.
The price is steep, well over £1,200 each month, but with careful budgeting, I reasoned we could manage. Philip pointed out that David should help payafter all, that would be fair.
It took me ages to come to a decision, but in the end, I realised there was no alternative. How much longer could I go on this way? At a care home, Mother would have care and medical support at all hours. I went to one nearby, asked every question. Yes, the expense was considerable, but what choice did I have?
Afterward, I called David, explaining every detail and hoping hed understand reality. Instead, he flew into a rage.
“Have you lost your senses? What sort of daughter puts her own mother in a care home? Everyone theres a stranger! How do you know shell be treated well? Heartless!” he shouted over the phone. “Or is this just your excuse to get her out of your house?”
I tried to explain, to justify myself, but he refused to listen. So I carried on looking after Mother, though I began to feel utterly worn out. We discussed it again, but Davids opinion never changed.
“I could never do that to Mum. She raised us, taught us, gave us a proper homenot an orphanage. She never complained, never said it was hard. We owe her everything, both of usbut why must you be the only one to shoulder the burden? If you dislike my proposal, you can bring her to yours and show her all that kindness yourself.”
He replied, “You know I live with my wife in her flat. How do you expect me to persuade her to care for her mother-in-law?”
So I said, “Philip manages with his mother-in-law, why cant your wife?”
“You and Philip live with Mum, so he looks after herthats only natural.”
I told David I was ready to step backif he would move in and take over. David hesitated, arguing his work wouldnt allow it, accusing me of just trying to escape my duties.
I felt trapped in a nightmare. I knewdeep downputting Mother in the home would be best for everyone. But guilt gnawed at me, fear that I’d be judged an ungrateful daughter. Philip is supportive, reminding me that professional carers will look after her and we deserve our own life too.
I decided to give David one more week. If he doesnt step in, I will do whats necessary, however hard it may be. She deserves proper care and only I know the true strain of looking after someone so ill. Advice is easybearing the burden is another matter. David can make excuses to his friends, for I have had quite enough of them.
