Mothers Pity
The phone alarm chirped and Rachel stretched across her mattress.
Ah! What a jolly day ahead! She blinked open her eyes, smiling at the sight of her new beddingcrisp black sheets, just the style shed fancied for months that her daughter had gifted her for her birthday. Bless you, darling Ellie!
Outside, rain pattered against the window. Well then, so be itrain or not, it was still a good day. This morning, Rachel had a clinic appointment with the wonderful Mr Alexander, the ever-positive orthopaedic consultant, who, after wrestling with a couple of green, clumsy young nurses uncomfortable with injections and small talk, clung to Rachel like a lifebuoy. By afternoon, shed make her rounds visiting her home patients.
Rachel worked at a surgery, and also part-time as the school nurse. She picked up plenty of private jobsadministering injections, IV drips, and procedures at people’s homes. Having done it for years, shed amassed a loyal client base across her North London neighbourhoodfolks knew her, passed on recommendations. It proved useful: side jobs mattered so much more to a single woman. Thanks to them, shed finally finished redecorating the flat, and helped her children when she couldespecially Ellie, who lived close by and had slipped almost straight from one period of maternity leave into the next.
She swung her feet into her favourite fluffy slippers, then her body into her beloved armchair. A cup of coffee in one hand, a dab of makeup in the mirror, overtaxed hair sprayed into submission, and her ankles slipped into skinny jeanspushing aside that ever-nagging thought about dieting.
With an umbrella overhead, Rachel strode to work, smile never wavering. Positivity radiated from her.
Youre a ray of sunshine, Rachel love. When you walk in, the room brightens, moods lift, feels like illness wont dare linger, said one patient admiringly. You must be a happy woman.
Happy? Rachel laughed. Well, yessuppose I am. She nodded in agreement.
Why argue otherwise?
She firmly believed that happiness or misery came from ones thoughts, not the world around. Was she really happy? Life had run its course.
Her son fell gravely ill as a childa birth complication. Rachel grew so used to the fight, used to doing everything and anything, that shed merged with this active lifestyle.
Her husbands youth came with plenty of nasty surprisesonce, he ran off with another woman for three years. Rachel, left alone with two children, hardly knew who to lean on; especially as shed only settled in London with him after training. Back in Derby, there was her mother and brother, but her mother was preoccupied trying to save her brother from his spiral into drink.
Still, Rachel never let despair take root. She told herself shed manageand she did. Her husband spent a year pleading for forgiveness, and in the end, she gave it, covering the wound over with kinder thoughts.
Now, in her late fifties, shed been a widow four years. Her son lived up North in Leeds, her daughter and grandkids just a couple of blocks away. Of course, everyone had problemsbut those problems? That was simply called life. Deciding whether it counted as a happy or unhappy one was a question for each person to answer.
Morning, Mr Alexander!
The clinic was ready by the time the doctor walked in.
Morning only for the snails and roses today, Miss Harper. The rest of us have to brace for a rise in patients. Folk always blame the rain for their aches and painseven if science disagrees. Lets get to it
Rachel loved her work, rarely thought about her looming retirement. She saw her best friend Liz now and then; theyd arrange coffee catch-ups or evenings at the theatre. Liz, a teacher, helped with her own grandkids and, like Rachel, was usually exhausted. Their meetings were rare but precious.
***
But soon, Rachels life changed: time had come to bring her elderly mother to live with her. Her brother had passed away some years ago, and her mother needed help. Rachel brought her from Derby.
Oh, Rach, whatll Vicky and Jem do without me!? No one left for them to turn to. The poor souls. Its not right, is it?
Theyll be fine, Mum. Vickys young, Jems healthy, theres time ahead for them. But youyou need a rest after everything.
Her mother shook her head, sat on the bottom bunk of the train. Her words were heavy with longing for her left-behind grandsons, for the children of her late son, for the Derby neighbours, for everything she was leaving behind. Shed spent her whole life looking after others, always pitying someonenever herself.
Rachels mother belonged to the generation raised to exist for others, to care, to worry, to carry everyones burdens. Without someone to look after, life lost its colour.
Getting her to London took all Rachels willshe juggled two jobs to do it. Before, her mother had been locked in a thankless battle to save her son from drink, to rescue him from one scrape after another. When at last her strength gave out, her brother succumbedcold and drunk at a riverside.
In saving him, her mother wrecked her health. Driven by guilt for his deathguilt she shouldered aloneshe ended up raising his sons too.
You understand, dont you, love? Their mums rushed off her feethow are they to eat? So they come to me. Its not hard for me. I rise early, cook up a stew, bake bread, nip to the shops. Jem loves a bit of rice pudding, you know…
Mum, youre taking on too much! The boys have lunch at yours every other day.
Nonsense, it gives me a sense of purpose. Im glad for it.
From afar, Rachel worried that her mothers open-handed help had become a burden. Yet the needy calls from Derby never stopped.
Vickys at college, Rach. Hows her mum meant to support her alone? Bought her trainers, genuine pair. I gave her the money. When shes done with college, Ill stop helping, but for now
Rachel checked social media often; her niece and their mum werent so hard-done-bywell-dressed, out at cafés, off on holiday yet her mother dragged home shopping on a wheeled bag, spent her pension on them, always worrying and helping.
Rachel eventually realised her mother would never change unless she left, and the only answer was to bring her to London. Still, it was no easy feat.
Just collect her already! Liz would exclaim, hearing about her mothers situation.
Shes not a suitcase I can simply pick up and carry! She wont budge, Liz.
But now, with her mothers health ailing, Rachel had managed to bring her.
Both had to adjusther mother, to a new life and city; Rachel, to life with her mother. Of course, there was a stint at the GPs, some medication; quite soon, her mother felt better.
There were clashes tooinevitable. Having always run her own life, her mother bristled at being told what to do. Rachel, at nearly sixty, found it odd to be asking permission to meet up with Liz in the evening.
Out? But its dark already! Stay home!
Im going, Mum.
Her mother would sulk, refuse to speak for a while.
But in time, they grew used to each other. Her mother spent hours phoning Derbygrandsons, daughter-in-law, friendsasking Rachel to transfer money for her grandkids; Rachel complied. In time, her mother realised her Derby family was fine without her, her calls less vital than shed imagined. But her daughter Rachel was here, and she learned to sense her moods by the sound of her steps or a hint in her voice.
And Rachel wasnt without problems, eithera fact her mother soon grew acutely aware of.
Rachel would come home from a long day, tongue-tied with fatigue. The school was draining, the endless checks left her numb. Often, she collected the grandchildren from nursery because she wanted to help Ellie out. Her private patients were scattered far, some stubborn or gruff, and her energy waned.
Still, shed always pressed oncome home, kick back in the living room for thirty minutes. Let her legs and back recover, stare at the ceiling, and then, refreshed, get up again to cook, or to watch telly. She cherished those solitary evenings, especially after being surrounded by people all day.
At first, while settling in, her mother insisted she help with everythingout of habit, not ill intention. She missed company.
Rachel barely slipped off her shoes before her mother started:
I peeled some spuds, but can you finish dinner? Also, there are these tablets, can you read the label? I rang Vicky as well, shes seeing someone new
Rachel had to explain, ask for thirty minutes to herself.
Now, shed use those thirty minutes to hear her mother sigh from the other rooma lament in Rachels honour.
Youre exhausted, love, always overworked. Its too much! If only youd find a windfall, a million pounds, so you could live easy. The pension will come, but even my money would do for us. Give up this job, love why push so hard?
And while Rachel lay there, she began to feel sorry for herself. The truth was she wasnt young anymore. Her feet ached, her salary didnt quite seem enough; she bent over backwards and got little thanks. At the Lebedev household, shed been twelve times instead of ten, took no extra pay, and they still barely looked at her. As if she were to blame because their granddad still coughed.
Mothers pity is a heavy elixir.
Her mothers voice soon brimmed with concern.
Rach, have a lie-down! Give yourself a break! Its the weekend, after all.
Mum, Ive had enough sleep.
Go on, rest a bit longer. Youve been running all week go on.
So Rachel made another coffee and took it back to bed. Shed been working non-stop all week, after all. Shed ring Ellie to say she wasnt comingtoday was a day off.
And when Rachel set about cleaning the windows, her mum would hover fretting,
Why bother with those windows now? Theyll wait for you.
So she left the other windows unfinishedthey could indeed wait.
Mum, Im taking Arthur and Daisy for the weekend. Ellie and Jack are off to a wedding.
Are you now? Once again you wont get a rest, her mother sighed. Im no help to you, my love. You work so hard, what a tough life you have.
Really, Mum, its just life
Nonsense! her mother brushed her off. Nothing but work. No rest for you, its just run, run, run. Youre not seventeen, love. Time to think of yourself.
Slowly, her mothers energyher pitysoaked into Rachel, convincing her to see herself as overworked, underappreciated, worn-out. Her world started to look greyer.
Shed get up with a groan, cook dinner half-heartedly, because she could barely be bothered, because she pitied herself, because tomorrow meant another long day in the grind
Mum, whats the matter? Ellie asked.
What do you mean?
I dont know. Youve changed. Lately even Daisy says Grandma isnt funny anymore. Did something happen? Ever since Granny moved in, youre different. Or am I wrong? Think about it, please?
Think about it. Whats there to think about? Must be my age
But Rachel did start to ponder. Her moods, since her mother moved in, had undeniably shifted. Ellie was onto something, and the more Rachel considered it, the more anxious she became.
Her mum had always pitied Rachels brotherthrough childhood illness, school trouble, then drink. Shed always fought for him.
And the result?
Rachel usually returned to Derby in summer. Her brother would be at hers, job-hunting, and every day hed come round, fill up on a cooked lunch, then lounge on the sofa till evening, chatting to his mother.
She, in contrast, was on her feet, ticking off chores, her precious annual leave spent helping her mum as much as possible.
Love, put your feet up! Why are you always rushing about? her mother would lament, genuinely wishing for her children to do nothing but rest. What mother wouldnt want that bliss?
But Rachel couldnt, wouldntshe had plans to execute.
Her brother just lay there. Rachel, a lifelong believer in time is money, couldnt get over it. Shed spend two weeks running about, hed spend two weeks doing nothing.
Mum would say he was just a night owl, never could get up for work, always pitied him. There were never jobs, people were hostile, politics were a mess, life was just constant sorrow.
Except when drink was involvedthen the sorrow evaporated.
Could it be?
Was it possible maternal pity had ruined him? No, impossible. Were not responsible for anothers happiness. We cant be. Everyone is responsible for themselves. Still
Why do we blossom around some people, wither around others? Were drawn to those who see us as strong and capable; near them we find inspiration. Near those who constantly pity us, we start to pity ourselves.
Rachel saw clearlyshed dulled her own spark to fit the picture her mother painted for her: the image of a woman who deserved to be pitied. It was an easier role to fitif others pitied you, you pitied yourself.
Sweat broke across her brow.
Happiness, shed always thought, depended on our thoughts, not circumstancesso how had it come to this?
What was she doing to her life?
The very next day after that talk with Ellie, Rachel overheard the school nurses chatting in the corridor:
She has changed, hasnt she? Always cheery before, now shes not herself at all.
Maybe shes ill. Some folk just keep it inside.
Ill? Maybe she was. Illwith self-pity.
That day, Rachel assisted the proctologist, a man in his forties, when a young lad came in, stammering, plainly humiliated. Rachel instantly regained her old touch, put him at ease, got him laughing, while the doctor explained the course of treatment.
So, uh then what? the lad asked, face crimson. How do youuhget it out?
Get it out? The doctor was taken aback, then grinned. Oh, you dont have to. Itll dissolve on its own.
Dissolve? The boy turned to Rachel with round eyes.
How do you think youd get it out? Rachel teased.
All three burst into laughter, and suddenly Rachel felt lighter, happier.
No more. No more giving in to pity. No more.
She rang and booked in with her hairdresser for a proper cut and colour. Then called Mrs Kendall, one of her old private patients, to check in, and announced to her clients that shed be resuming home visits. Instantly, she felt a rush of anticipationhow shed missed them all!
Liz, fancy catching up? Im done hiding at home!
Ill believe it when I see it! Welcome back, my lovelyabout time you returned to us all!
Her mother was put out.
Why? Why work when you dont have to? Its not about the money, surely. Youll never earn it all.
Its not about money, Mum. I get stale stuck at homeIm just used to being busy.
If you dont take care of yourself, nobody will.
Well, youve pitied me enough for a lifetime, Mum. Rachel smiled. Be happy for me. I am a happy woman. Believe it, please. Thoughts have power, especially yours.
Nonsense, her mother scoffed. Youll only wear yourself out. Youre not a girl. You should be worrying about your health!
She couldnt be convinced. But then, maybe she didnt need convincing.
Her mother was losing her grip on the role of Caregiver, on her sense of purpose. And at eighty, could she easily find another meaning for her life? That was a question for another time. For now, she sulked, looked for ways to draw Rachels attention back again.
Now, Rachel just needed to help her mother settleand not lose her own happiness trying.
The phone alarm chirped again. Rachel stretched out in bed. Ahwhat a grand day! She admired her new leopard-print pyjamas, a gift from Ellie. Thank you, my girl!
Oh, I didnt sleep a winkthe wretched rain drumming on the window, all night, drifted her mothers voice from the other room.
Rain? Ah well, let it rain. Rachel placed her feet in her favourite grey slippers, sank into her armchair. Cup of coffee, light makeup touch, hair tamed, snug jeans. The thought of dieting no longer troubled her.
Under her umbrella, Rachel walked to work with a smile.
It was still a beautiful day
The day of a happy woman.
