In their golden years, some peoples children suddenly recall they have a mother, but Ill never forget how mine treated me.
When my husband swanned off with a younger woman, my children were quick to take his side. After all, he was a big cheesea respected managing director at a major company. For years, my own offspring barely gave me a passing thought, leaving me high and dry on my own. Not too long ago, the old goat finally popped his clogs, and thats when it was revealed that hed left his entire estate to the younger wife.
And would you look at thatthe children remembered me at last. Now, they visit me rather often, but I can see right through them. The other day, my daughter started dropping hints: time to think about the future, about my will and all that. Bless themthey havent the faintest clue about the little surprise Ive cooked up for them. All shall be revealed when Im pushing up daisies.
In their golden years my children suddenly remembered their mother, but I can’t forget how they behaved towards me.
The years tumbled by and I felt as if Id washed up on the very edge of the world. My children always looked at me as if I were a stranger, like we were speaking entirely different languagesme in English, them in Martian.
When I divorced their father, that really put the kibosh on family relations. They sided with him, naturallyhe was the sort to command rooms and earn admiring glances. I, meanwhile, was marooned: deserted wife, abandoned mother.
The children swiftly swept me from their minds. Id hear, via some mutual friends, about their jolly weekends: exotic holidays with Dad and the new wife, posh dinners, grand plans. Me? I was rattling around in my empty London flat with only the ticking clock and the telly for company. Every snippet of their happiness stung like a paper cut.
Somewhere in all the gloom, I decided to live for myself. I packed up and took a job abroad, discoveringshock of shocksthat life could still be rather good.
In my old age, the children suddenly remembered I existed, but I still recall how they left me behind.
After a few years graft overseas, I came home with enough tucked away to spruce up my life. I gave the place a proper revamp, bought new bits for the house, enough gadgets to confuse a teenager, and squirreled away some savings for my dotage.
Meanwhile, the kids forged ahead: lavish weddings, beautiful homes, family parties. I heard through the grapevine that all was rosy. Then, unexpectedly, my ex-husband expired quite suddenly. His whole estatehouses, bank accounts, the lotwent straight to his young wife.
My son and daughter were left without so much as a teabag between them. Their disappointment suddenly translated into fond new memories of their dear mother.
At first, they rolled up with boxes of chocolates, bunches of grapes, and oddly probing questions about my health. I greeted them with a smile, all the while knowing full well they each had an agenda.
Im seventy-two nowfighting fit and enjoying life. But just days ago, my daughter started to suggestsubtly as an airhornthat perhaps it was time for me to sort out my affairs, hint hint, nudge nudge: the will. Not long after, my granddaughternewly married, bless herpaid me a visit.
Grandma, arent you lonely, rattling around here by yourself? she asked, curiosity shining in her eyes.
Oh, not at all, I replied. I find it rather peaceful.
In a flat this spacious? Bet the hooverings a nightmare! Perhaps my husband and I could move in? Thats us sortedno rent to pay, and youd have some company.
I smiled. The angle was glaringly obvious.
Who told you there wouldnt be rent? I returned calmly. I could let you have a solid discount.
She went pink and flustered. Plainly, shed expected me to fling open the doors and hand over the keys. But I had other ideas.
Quite a while back, I made out a will making it perfectly clear: once Im gone, my flat gets sold and the proceeds go straight to a childrens charity.
When my daughter found out, she quite lost her ragphoned me up, shouting about injustice and sabotaging her childrens futures. Before long, my son piped up too, gently hinting hed be quite happy for me to move in with him, looked after and whatnot. Their mysterious bout of affection didnt melt my heart, it just amused me.
So, tell meif you were in my shoes, would you let your granddaughter move in, or would you hold your ground?
