None of my children wanted to look after me when I landed in hospital. Thank goodness there are still decent people in the world.
When I brought up my two little darlings, I naively believed at least one of them would return the favour and look after me in my golden years. I spent my entire adult life raising my son and daughter, barely catching my breath between packed lunches and parents evenings. But oh, how mistaken I was! Now that Im old, a little rickety, and need a bit of help, not a single one was willing to have me move in or even offer proper care. Let me tell you, theres nothing quite like realising your offspring would rather wrestle a tax return than spend time with you.
I raised them single-handedly too. My husband popped his clogs when our son was born, leaving me to juggle a pram and a toddler all on my own. I worked two jobsschool secretary by day, cleaner by nightjust so they could have everything. Made sure they both went to uni, none of that gap year in Bali nonsense, mind. My daughters a qualified interior designer and my son an engineer. Both scored decent jobs, proper nine-to-fives, you know. While I was fit and able, I helped with their children: little Michael, my daughters lad, and Andy, my sons boy. Id pick the boys up from school, ferry them to clubs, and cook meals that usually ended on the carpet (because, of course, peas are for throwing).
The boys often stayed at minehardly surprising, as I was their built-in babysitter. Then, one ordinary morning, I suddenly felt horrendous out on the high street. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in hospital. Thats when my children showed their hands. My daughter visited once, for a whopping sixteen minutes, and my son only managed a quick phone call at lunchtime. After a week, the doctors sent me home and told me not to overdo it. But, guess what? My children promptly dumped their kids on me again. Ever tried wrangling two small boys when you can barely shuffle to the kettle? Theres always somethinga game, a snack, a burst of energy that requires a trip to the local playground.
After a couple of months, I got worse. I asked my son to drive me to the GP for some tests. His phone was glued to his ear with urgent meetings, so I ended up calling a taxi and spent half my pension. Time went on. Then, one day, I couldnt get out of bed. I rang my daughter. She was at work and blithely suggested I dial 999. Off I went to hospital again, and from then on, well, my legs just gave up the ghost.
The doctor explainedquite clearly, I might addthat I shouldnt be left alone and needed full-time care. So there we were in my little flat, and my two success stories kicked off a row over who should take me in. My daughter said her flat was too poky and she hadnt a spare room. My son, with his big house, retorted that his wife was expecting and wouldnt be thrilled about a live-in mother-in-law. I was mortified. Was this what all those years of sacrifice had come to? Taking a deep breath, I told them both to shove offI wouldnt be anyones burden, thank you very much. They left, and I had a rare old cry into my pillow. How did my beloved babies become such selfish grown-ups? Did I raise them so poorly?
I barely slept a wink that night. Morning came, and I was in a deep funk, when I heard the front door open. I panickedhow could someone get in? My heart almost stopped.
Turns out, my children had left yesterday, and the place had been locked up all night. Still couldnt stand on my own two feet, though. It was Julia from the downstairs flatlovely woman, single mum raising a daughter about my granddaughters age. She dropped in to check on me. One thing led to another, and before long, I was pouring my heart out. She offered to help, but if my own flesh and blood werent interested, how could I possibly accept kindness from a neighbour? Julia, however, is nothing if not persistent. She brought over a hot meal, made me a cuppa, and from that day on she took me under her wing. In return, I give her half my pensionshe gets our groceries and sorts my meals. The rest goes to the bills and a bit for cleaning products.
So now my whole life depends on a neighbour, while my own children barely feign concern. They ring from time to time, relieved to learn someones looking after their inconvenient old mum. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine my twilight years would include this sort of betrayalleast of all from the two people I sacrificed everything for. Makes you wonder, doesnt it? Turns out, I raised children who never quite figured out gratitude.
