This isnt right. After all, she is his mother! He could bring her to live with us! These words come from people close to my husband, Andrew. I know my own friends share this opinion as well, though none dare say it aloud. The reason behind their reluctance lies with my mother-in-law, Dorothy.
Dorothy is eighty-three, weighs more than sixteen stone, and is frequently unwell. Why dont you take Dorothy in? my cousin asked me several years ago. Its good that you help her each day, but what if something happens at night? She shouldnt be alone. Andrew is her only hope.
Its always expected that the grandmother will be cared for by her only son, his only wife, and her single grandson. For the past five years, Dorothy hasnt left her flat even once. Her legs trouble her, and her weight prevents her from moving about. It all began thirty years ago, when my mother-in-law was lively, young, healthy, and headstrong.
Who have you brought here? Dorothy exclaimed, outraged when Andrew introduced me. Is this the person for whom Ive sacrificed my whole life?
After her stinging words, I made my way to the bus in silence. Back then, Andrews mother lived on a fashionable country estate in Surrey, a large and beautiful house. Her husband held a respected office, so Dorothy enjoyed a comfortable life, even well beyond his passing. That day, Andrew chased after me and insisted on coming home with me. I was fortunate; my husband never blindly followed his mothers orders, though he respected her as one should their elders. He tried to calm me, explaining that Dorothy simply had a difficult personality.
We married and began saving every pound for our own place. Andrew left to work and didnt return for half a year. In a few years, we managed to buy our own house and finished all the renovations ourselves. Afterward, we rarely visited Dorothy. She managed to gossip about me to Andrew and anyone who would listen, claiming her daughter-in-law wouldnt let her son help his mother. Who wouldnt let him? It was all nonsense.
Dorothy decided to move to London, but the money from her house in Surrey wasnt enough. She asked us to contribute and promised that the flat would eventually go to our son, her grandson. Yet, at the solicitors, she abruptly declared that she wanted the flat to remain hers, as a friend had warned her that grandmothers end up homeless that way. She then added she’d leave it to whoever looked after her in old age, insisting she needed to remain mistress of the house worrying we might cheat her out of everything.
Twenty years have passed since that day. Everyone at the solicitors office heard her lamenting, and it was terribly embarrassing for us. We walked away from the situation. She moved into her flat at once, refusing to allow even minor renovations. After nearly a month, she began to complain that the place was old, things were falling apart, everything was broken. She blamed me for it all: claiming Id found her the wrong flat and wanted to deceive her.
Dorothy loved her cousins children, but entirely ignored her own grandson. She even pretended not to remember his birthday! A few years ago, she became quite ill, gaining so much weight she struggled to move around the flat. I brought her healthy meals as prescribed by her doctor, but Dorothy cursed and refused to eat, insisting only her cousin fed her properly and I was starving her.
Last year, Andrew began to plead with me to let Dorothy move in with us. According to him, his mother had seen sense and was finally prepared to listen to the doctor.
Fine, I agreed, but on certain conditions: the kitchen would be mine alone, Id decide what meals to prepare, and none of her cousins would visit.
Dorothy was indignant and refused, expecting to come in and take charge of our household. But this house has only one lady, and thats me. I was left to make daily visits, clean, cook, and even spend the night if necessary. Dorothys favourite cousin expressed her concern only over the phone.
Dorothy complained I was starving her: refusing to let her have sweets or sausages. She begged for cakes, but her cousin, citing her busy schedule, postponed any visits even though she lived three times closer. Her cousin appeared only once a month, bringing unhealthy treats, while I looked after Dorothy every day.
One afternoon, Dorothy phoned her cousin claiming her pendant and cross had gone missing. She said we had both visited, but was sure I was the one who took them.
Without a word, I set her supper at the table, picked up the chain and cross which had simply fallen from her bedside drawer. At home, I told Andrew everything and decided I wouldnt go back again. I suggested placing Dorothy in a residential care home. Andrew agreed.
