We all know how the old folk are tended to, or so they say. My older brother returned from across the pond.
My elder brother, James, had been away on a visit. For more than a decade hes been living with his wife in the United States, barely finding the time to drop in on mum and dad. This was only his third stop in all those years. He arrived bearing parcels: fashionable clothes and a handful of foreign curios for us, David recalled. When James first set off for his fortunes in America, David had looked after the parents. Now he realises he should have acted differently and regrets not seeing it sooner.
Jamess arrival lifted Mothers spirits at once. She forgot every ache shed been nursing and hurried to bake treats for her son. Father was delighted that both son and daughterinlaw were staying over. While James and his wife, Imogen, were in the house, the parents were constantly on the move, puzzled about how best to please and feed their guests. Father loved to play with his American grandchildren, and Mother kept the kitchen humming, frying pancakes and roasting meat for Imogen.
Thus, for two whole weeks the house bled a festive glow. Imogen spent her days from dawn till dusk either in the kitchen or glued to the telly, nursing a cup of tea. Not once did she offer to lend a hand or tidy up after herself. When they finally left, Father handed them an envelope stuffed with cash. James chuckled, What am I to do with pounds when Im back in America? yet he accepted the money without protest.
That evening, after the guests had gone, Mothers blood pressure spiked again. Imogen had to brew her tea and spend the night looking after mums health. Father asked me to split some firewood he couldnt manage it himself, though just the day before hed boasted of his skill with the axe. I watched Imogen being torn between the stove, her mother, and the chores. It was exhausting.
What is life like with the old ones? My wife and I have been married nearly nine years, and throughout that time we have lived in my parents home. They no longer keep the house running; the full burden of repairs, cleaning and every domestic duty now falls on us.
Both Arthur and Eleanor have retired and resolved to look after their health: they shun overwork, avoid unnecessary trips to the shop or the garden, and leave the household tasks to us. Together we have reroofed the loft, replaced windows, fitted a new roof and put up a fence paying for everything out of our own pockets.
James visits his parents only on rare occasions. When he does, he seems to transform: suddenly alert, energetic and cheerful, as though nothing could touch him.
We decided to move back in with my parents so we could lend a hand whenever they needed it. Now I see that my earlier choices were flawed, yet we have poured so much money and effort into this house that walking away feels wasteful. My parents scarcely recognise the daily labour we put in; they praise James to relatives and friends, while dubbing us, the ones still under their roof, as failures. Im at a loss for what to do next.
