I spent eight years looking after him, and not a single thankyou ever came my way.
Anyone whos had to care for a sick person knows how tough it is. Even when its a close relative, it can drain you, but for fifteen years now Ive been caring for the father of my daughterinlaw. In truth, he was a complete stranger to me, and I never once heard anyone express gratitude. Thats part of why Im still so scarred by it.
Im seventytwo now, and the tale Im about to tell dates back almost fifteen years.
My husband passed away many years ago. I have a son, Mark, his wife Emily, and a grandson, Tom. Emilys father, Arthur, was a kindly maths teacher until a serious illness knocked him down.
We financed his treatment as best we could, spending a small fortune in pounds. I chipped in whatever I could financially, too.
Eventually Arthur became bedridden and unable to look after himself. No one else stepped in. Mark was always busy with work and travelling for business. Tom was still at university. Emily worked fulltime and had an older sister, Margaret, who lived up north and could only call to offer sympathy.
Emily wasnt allowed to take sick leave. She was told, Either you keep working, or youre out. Naturally she chose the job, leaving his care to me.
At first Emily asked me to pop over once a day to cook and feed him. I agreed. I never imagined Id be at his bedside for eight years.
In the beginning I stayed two hours then went home, but over time Emily kept adding tasks. Soon I was there the whole day, only leaving at night, and walking back in the morning. My son Mark felt sorry for me; he saw how hard it was and urged me to quit the charitable work, though he never said a word to his wife because he lived in her flat.
It drove me mad when Margaret kept ringing, dictating exactly what I should do and how I should tend to her father. Emily grew increasingly annoyed when I couldnt fit everything in.
She even snapped, If you cant cope, take your son and go! Ill manage on my own! Ill find a babysitter! I swallowed that for eight long years, then Arthur finally passed away. None of his daughters ever thanked me for looking after their father, and the eldest insisted that no one had forced me to care for him Id done it of my own accord.
Thats the way it is: you do a good deed for people, yet they can be so heartless they wont even spare a thankyou.
