The son refuses to bring his mother to live with him because there is room for only one lady of the house, and that lady is me.
That never sat right with many, especially those close to my husband. Shes his mother! Of course he can bring her into his home! is what I would often overhear. I believe my own friends quietly share the sentiment, though they spare me the awkwardness of saying it directly. The root of all this, however, is the situation with my mother-in-law.
Margaret is now 83, weighs well over sixteen stone, and she falls ill far too often.
Why not invite Margaret to stay with you? my cousin asked a few years ago. Its good of you to help her daily, but what if something happens at night? Shes all alone, and, after all, your Henry is her only son.
Its assumed that Gran will be looked after by her only son, his only wife, and her only grandson. For the last five years, Margaret hasnt left her flat, not once. Her legs ache, and her weight keeps her from getting about. It traces back three decades. My mother-in-law was then a force: young, energetic, healthy, and quite formidable.
Whom have you brought to me? was Margarets scandalised greeting when I first met her as Henrys fiancée. Did I really raise you for this?
We rode back in silence that day, waiting for the bus. Margaret lived then in a handsome house in one of Kents more exclusive suburbs. Her husband held a grand position, and she lived comfortably long into her widowhood. That day, Henry chased after me, supporting me as always; he was never one to blindly obey his mother, though he respected his elders. He tried to reassure me. Its just her ways, he explained.
After our marriage, we began setting aside money for a home of our own. Henry took a job far away and spent six months apart from us, seeking better wages. In a few years, we managed to buy our own house, then finished and furnished it with care. Our visits to Margaret grew rarer each year, though she always found a way to cast me as the villainin Henrys eyes and everyone elses. According to her, I would never let Henry help his mother, whatever that meant.
Eventually Margaret resolved to move to town herself, but the money from her house didnt suffice. She asked if we could pitch in, promising to leave the newly bought flat to our son as an inheritance. But when it came time to sign papers at the solicitors, she suddenly demanded the flat be left to her instead. Someone, she claimed, told her grannies often end up homeless this way. Later she warned that the flat would go to whomever took care of her in old age. She neededno, demanded!to be lady of the house, warning wed trick her and leave her destitute.
Nearly twenty years have gone by since that scene at the solicitors office, which left us mortified. We let the matter drop. Margaret moved in, refusing even simple repairs or paint. She lived there less than a month before complaining everything was worn, breaking or falling apart. Every mishap was my faultId found her a bad flat and meant to cheat her.
Margaret doted on my cousins children, but largely ignored our own son, feigning ignorance of his very birthday. Then, a few years ago, she fell seriously ill; she had grown so heavy it was difficult for her even to move about her own home. I brought her meals prescribed by her doctorhealthy food, mind youyet Margaret would only curse at me, insisting that only her favourite cousin ever fed her well and that I was trying to starve her.
Last year, Henry pleaded with me to consider having Margaret come live with us. Mother sees things clearly now, he said, and is willing to follow the doctors orders. I agreed, but set my conditions: the kitchen would be my domain; meals would be of my choosing; and there would be no horde of cousins traipsing through.
Margaret was indignant, insisting shed run our household if she came. But there can only be one true lady of the house, and I am she. That left me to continue visiting her, nursing her, sometimes even staying the night. Meanwhile, her so-called favourite cousin expressed concern only by telephone.
Margaret would regularly ring her and complain I wouldnt bring her cakes or pork pies or sweet treats. Shed beg me to come by with pastries, but her cousin, always busy, rarely visited at alldespite being much closer than us. Shed show up once a month with something unhealthy, but it was left to me to see to Margarets needs daily.
One afternoon, Margaret phoned her cousin in a panic, saying shed lost her locket and cross. She recounted that both of us had visited that day but suspected Id pocketed them. Later, as I was tidying up, I found the locket and cross had only slipped off the bedside table. I set them out for her without a word.
That night, I told Henry everything, and made my decision: I would not go to her flat anymore. I suggested we find a place in a proper home for her. Henry quietly agreed.
