We are not a retirement home, and she’s not needed here…
This remarkable story was shared with me by my grandmother, whom I often visit in the countryside. We hadn’t seen each other for a while because I had been working abroad for two years. Upon returning to England, my first priority was visiting my beloved gran.
I had been staying in the countryside for a few days when I realized I hadn’t seen Margaret Thompson, my grandmother’s neighbor from across the street. I always admired this kind-hearted elderly woman—a real workhorse.
“Gran, where is your friend Margaret Thompson? I haven’t seen her all week. Is everything alright with her?” I asked, concerned.
My grandmother looked at me in surprise.
“Well, she’s been living in a retirement home for over a year now,” she suddenly remembered. “Oh, right, you don’t know anything about it! Let me tell you.”
And so, my gran shared her tale. As I mentioned, Miss Margaret was always busy working. No one from the village ever saw her idle. She was either busy with the garden, meeting the cow from the pasture, baking pies (and sharing them with half the village!), or rushing to the bus stop with two buckets of cherries early in the morning. She would take fresh vegetables, fruits, greens, chicken eggs, goat wool scarves, cream, and cottage cheese to the market in the district center and sell them. Every penny she earned, she carefully saved in a tin from a biscuit box.
These savings weren’t for herself; she didn’t need much. They were for her only son, James, his wife Linda, and their daughter Sandra. Her son and his wife lived in a city three hours away and visited her regularly. They never helped with the garden or livestock, but they did come by for the fresh village produce, often loading up the car until it sagged under the weight.
As the years passed, Margaret Thompson began to age and get sick. Her back would ache, her legs would trouble her, her work-worn hands would seize up, and her blood pressure would soar. Gradually, she started to give up her animals and kept just a few vegetable beds in the garden, letting her neighbors plant potatoes in the rest. Her son James visited less and less, and his wife Linda stopped coming altogether, there was nothing left to take from the country mother-in-law.
When Miss Margaret’s vision began to deteriorate rapidly, she was frightened. She called her son, asking to be shown to city doctors. James picked her up.
Linda wasn’t particularly pleased to see her mother-in-law, but she hid it. She offered refreshment from the journey and fed her. James suggested his mother have a full health check-up. They spent the whole day at the clinic, followed by a trip to the pharmacy for medicine…
It was too late to return to the village. When Linda learned that Miss Margaret would be staying overnight, she no longer hid her disappointment. She went to the kitchen to make dinner, clattering the dishes so loudly it threatened to shatter eardrums. At that moment, an elderly neighbor dropped by to visit. Seeing the guest, she was delighted:
“Margaret Thompson! It’s been ages since we last saw you. You’re leaving tomorrow? Why don’t you come over for some tea and a chat, like old times.”
After taking his mother to visit the neighbor, James went to the kitchen to talk to his wife.
“Cooking up something nice, Linda? I wanted to talk to you while mum’s not here.”
“Oh?” Judging by her voice, Linda already didn’t like where this conversation was heading.
“Mum’s really not doing well,” her husband stalled. “We were at the hospital; they found a whole host of issues. She says her legs hurt so much she can barely walk.”
“Well, she’s not young anymore! What do you expect?” Linda shot back. “This is just old age.”
“Exactly my point,” James replied optimistically. “We have a three-bedroom apartment. Sandra and her husband are living in Manchester now, unlikely to return. So…”
“Wait, where are you going with this?” Linda paused chopping carrots. “You’re not thinking of moving her in here, are you? Have you lost your mind? Yes, we have a three-bedroom flat, but it’s NOT a retirement home, James.”
“Mind you, a couple of these rooms were funded by mum’s cherries and strawberries, which she sold every summer,” James responded dryly.
“Are you seriously throwing that in my face?” Linda fumed. “Your mother was helping her own son and granddaughter, not strangers!”
“You’re hard-hearted, Linda,” her husband sighed sadly. “I thought we’d bring mum here, live happily. Her house is solid, built to last. We could get a good price, buy a new car, maybe even holiday in Spain…”
“Well, she can choke on her house!” Linda shouted. “A week abroad, and then I’ll be stuck caring for her for 10 years?! Found yourself a maid, did you?”
“What on earth are you saying, you fool?” James snapped suddenly noticing Margaret Thompson standing at the doorway.
The kitchen fell silent as if everyone had gone deaf.
“Mum, how long have you been standing there?” her son mumbled nervously.
“Oh, I’ve just come in,” she smiled gently. “I came to get my glasses; we’re looking at an album with Kathy. I nearly forgot, dear—I was going to tell you. I’m moving to a retirement home in a month; you can help me with my things then.”
James couldn’t utter a word. His wife, however, started bustling around:
“Yes, of course, he’ll help. I’ll come along too. We’ll pack everything you need and move it. That’s a sensible decision. Life with peers must be more fun than living alone.”
The regional retirement home, where the caring son and his wife took Margaret Thompson, stirred mixed feelings in James. There was no denying the staff were wonderful, and the manager was a warm, kind-hearted person. It was clear they treated the elderly here with care and warmth. However, the “home” building itself was in need of repair, with linoleum floors worn and drafty windows; the common room was bare save a broken TV and worn-out chairs.
Margaret’s room was small and damp. The bed was saggy, the chairs wobbly. Yet she didn’t let on that she was upset by the conditions.
“Don’t worry, mum,” James said cheerfully, “I’ll fix this place up so well everyone will be envious. I’ll tackle that during my next vacation. Don’t get too lonely, we’ll visit soon.”
James remembered his promise only six months later when Linda reminded him they had to decide what to do with his mother’s house. Now would be the prime time to sell.
The director did not reproach the infrequent visitors. He spoke kindly about Margaret Thompson.
“Before you head up to the second floor, stop by the common room. Perhaps your granny’s watching TV with her friends. Follow me; I’ll show you the way.”
Margaret wasn’t in the common room. Looking around, Linda even whistled.
“Wow! You’ve spruced this place up. New sofas, chairs, a huge TV. Flowers everywhere. Gorgeous! Must have cost a pretty penny?”
“Thanks to your mother,” the manager smiled.
“Mum?” James shook his head. “What’s she got to do with it?”
“All of this was bought with her money.”
“Where did she get that kind of money?” Linda laughed, then suddenly gasped, “James?! Did she sell the house?”
Margaret Thompson watched calmly as her furious relatives bombarded her with reproaches and accused her of selfishness.
“Why are you so riled up? I didn’t sell your home, just mine. I have every right. I’m happy here, warm and having fun. Felt like doing something nice for good people.”
Granny Margaret looked slyly at Linda, who was red with anger.
“It’s better to sell a house and bring joy to people than choke on it, don’t you think, Linda?”
Linda dropped her gaze and darted outside like a bullet. It was too late to change anything…
