Two years ago, she moved in with me, and our home has marched to her steady beat ever since.
My names Caroline, and my mum is already 89. She moved in two years ago, and our lives have been gently ruled by her rather peacefulbut unmistakably methodicalrhythm. Every morning, around half seven, I hear her getting up, having a quiet word with our decrepit, 23-year-old cat, and feeding him with the care of a Michelin-star chef serving her only child.
Then Mum sorts her own breakfast, pops out to the conservatory, and sits down with her cup of tea, gradually restoring herself to human mode after her sleep. Once shes properly awake, she grabs the mop and, so I dont seize up like an old engine, as she puts it, mops the entire house from top to bottom (which is an impressive 240 square metresI do keep reminding her that Buckingham Palace probably has cleaning staff). If shes in the mood, she might whip up something in the kitchen, tidy up here and there, or do a few stretches that seem suspiciously close to pilates.
Afternoons are strictly for her: skincare, her hair, all sorts of little ritualsnever the same two days running. Sometimes, she drags out her mammoth wardrobe and begins sorting: some things to hand down to me, some for the charity shop, and a mysterious pile shes saving to sell online, when Ive got the energy. I tease her:
Mum, you could have invested all this and be living in a stately home by now.
But she just chuckles, Oh, I love my things. Anyway, itll all be yours one dayyour sister wouldnt know a good coat if it bit her.
For fun, we take brisk walks by the river about five times a weeka decent three-miles each time. Once a month, Mum meets up with her friends for something thats either a bring-and-share lunch or tea and scandal. Shes addicted to books and is determined, at her own gentle pace, to plough through my entire library. Every day, she rings her elder sister, whos 91, and that formidable matriarch visits us twice a year, like the Queens birthday but with more biscuits.
Apart from the elderly cat, Mums true love is her tabletthe Christmas present I gave her. Shes hooked: reading up on favourite authors and composers, browsing non-mainstream news sites, streaming ballet, opera, and every concert in sight. Occasionally, late at night, I can hear from her room:
I really should go to bed but whos got Pavarotti blaring on YouTube?
She and her sister genuinely seem to have won the genetic lottery. I keep a photo taken two years backMum was flying and dressed up just so, as if she was about to meet royalty.
I look dreadful in this, she said at the time.
And, as usual, I replied, Mum, most people your age would be lucky to look half as goodor live half as well.
Living with Mum has taught me Id rather like to be like hershe spurs me on and reminds me how precious every day really is.
