My daughter married a German chap. I lived with them for two years, looking after my grandson and running the household like a proper English mum.
Both my daughter and her husband worked at the same company and didnt get home until late. Id hoped I might be there for good, but no such luck. One day, her husband announced that my services were no longer required and, rather unceremoniously, asked me to leave. A month later, I was back at my own place. Turns out, I wasnt welcome there either. While Id been away, my son had split up with his first wife, moved out of her flat, and promptly taken up residence in mine.
Of course, he moved his second wife in, tooshe was already expecting. Did he ask me if I was all right with it? Not a whisper.
So, what am I supposed to do? Boot my son and his pregnant wife onto the street? Probably not. But living the three of usor soon fourin a one-bedroom flat is madness. Mind you, neither my son nor I have the funds for renting somewhere else. I called my daughter, explained the situation, hoping she and her husband might have a bit of sympathy and at least ring me back. They didnt. Shame, really. But you cant argue with different worldviews
As for my son, one can hardly blame him. He never expected Id come home. Now Im relegated to sleeping on the sofa in the kitchen. During the day, I escapedo the shopping, pop into my old workplace, have a natter with former colleagues. I speak to my son civilly enoughno drama therebut my daughter-in-law simply pretends Im invisible. Its painfully clear shes not thrilled sharing the flat with me.
I never imagined that, at sixty, Id become redundant and have another woman ruling my roost. My son seems entirely focused on his expectant wife, and apparently the whole flat situation doesnt even cross his mind.
Im searching for a part-time job, something to keep me busy and maybe earn a few quid. The in-laws live out in the countryside. Perhaps I should suggest to my daughter-in-law that she moves in with her parents? Would my son find work out in the sticks? Highly doubtful. I just cant decide what to doInstead, I do what Ive always done: get on with it. The kettle whistles. I take my cup to the park, where the ducks are greedy for crusts and nobody minds if you linger. An old friend from the lunch club waves me over. We talk, and for a little while I remember who I am, not just whose mother or whose inconvenience. Maybe Ill find a room to let, maybe I wont. Maybe my daughter will call, maybe Ill learn to thrive with the silence.
For now, I watch the sun climb over the trees, and for the first time in years, Im not waiting for anyones permission to start my day. I sip my tea, let the air fill my lungs, and think, quietly but firmly, This is still my life, and I intend to live it.
