Margaret Thompson sat on a bench in the hospital garden, tears slipping down her cheeks. It was her 80th birthday, yet neither son nor daughter had bothered to appear with a card or a cake.
Her wardmate, Eleanor Smith, actually remembered the date, handed over a modest present, and the care assistant Sarah tossed Margaret an apple as a birthday treat. The care home itself was respectable, but the staff were about as warm as a cold brew.
Everyone knew these places were where children sent their aging parents when they became a bit of a bother. Margarets son, James, claimed he was taking her for a rest and some recuperation, but the truth was that she was simply getting in the way of his wife.
The flat had always been Margarets. Eventually James persuaded her to sign a deed, promising she could stay there just as she always had. In practice the whole family moved in, and a fullblown war with the daughterinlaw began.
The daughterinlaw was forever complaining, never cooked properly, left grime in the bathroom and so on. At first James defended her, then he gave up and started shouting himself. Margaret noticed they would whisper whenever she entered a room, only to fall silent the moment she stepped in.
One morning James tried to convince her that she needed rest and treatment. Mother, looking him straight in the eye, asked bitterly:
So youre sending me off to a nursing home, dear?
He flushed, fidgeted and replied apologetically:
Oh Mum, its just a care home. Sit for a month, then well bring you back home.
He drove her there, signed the paperwork in a hurry and rushed off, promising a quick return. He only turned up once: with two apples and two oranges, asked how she was, then vanished before she could finish the conversation.
And so shes been living there for two years.
When a month passed and James still hadnt visited, she tried the homes landline. Strangers answered; it turned out James had sold the flat and no one knew where to find him. Margaret wept for a couple of nights, already knowing shed never be taken back home, that there was no point in more tears. The most painful part was that shed once hurt her own daughter for the sake of her sons happiness.
Margaret was born in a tiny village called Littleford. She married her schoolmate Peter Clarke there. They had a big house and a modest farm. Life wasnt rich, but they never went hungry. Then a city neighbour visited the parents and went on about how wonderful city life wasgood pay and a flat ready to move in.
Peter got excited, Lets go, lets go! He sold everything and they moved to Birmingham. The neighbour wasnt lying about the flat; they got it straight away. They bought some furniture and an old, beatup car. It was in that clunker that Peter had an accident.
In the hospital, on the second day, the husband died. After the funeral, Margaret was left alone with two kids in her arms. To keep them fed and clothed she spent evenings mopping stairwells. She thought the children would grow up and help, but that never happened.
James fell into a bad crowd; Margaret had to borrow money to keep him out of prison, and spent two years paying it back. Then her daughter, Emma, got married and had a baby. For a year everything was fine, but then James fell ill repeatedly. She quit her job to tend to him, while doctors could not pinpoint the diagnosis.
Eventually they discovered a rare ailment treated only at one specialist centre, but the waiting list was endless. While Emma was ferrying her father to hospitals, her husband left her, though he at least left the flat behind. In the hospital she met a widower whose daughter had the same diagnosis. They liked each other and started living together. Five years later he fell ill too, needing money for an operation. Margaret had some savings and wanted to give them as a downpayment for a flat for her son.
When Emma asked for the money, Margaret felt sorry to spend it on a stranger when her own son needed it more, so she refused. Emma was deeply hurt and said goodbye, declaring she would no longer consider Margaret a mother, and that she shouldnt be called upon when times got tough.
So for twenty years they didnt speak.
Emmas husband recovered and they took their children and moved somewhere by the sea. If she could turn back time, Margaret would have done things differently. But the past cant be rewound.
Margaret slowly rose from the bench and shuffled towards the care home. Suddenly she heard:
Mum!
Her heart jumped. She turned slowly. It was Emma, legs wobbling, nearly toppling, but the daughter caught her.
Finally Ive found you He wouldnt give me the address, but I threatened him in court that the flat was sold illegally, and he fell silent
They went inside, sat on a sofa in the lobby.
Im sorry, Mum, for not keeping in touch all these years. I was angry, then I kept putting it off, it was shameful. A week ago you appeared in my dream, walking through a forest, crying.
I stood up, felt a heaviness in my soul. I told my husband everything, and he said, Go and make peace. I came here, but there were strangers who knew nothing.
I searched for my brothers address for ages, finally found it. And now Im here. Pack your bags, well go together. You know the house? A big one on the seafront. My husband told me, if Mum is unwell, we must bring her to us.
Margaret clung to her daughter gratefully and weptthese were tears of joy.
May your father and mother be remembered, that your days may be long upon the earth the LORD, your God, gives you.
