My grandmother was, to put it mildly, rather beastlya proper old dragon in some respects.
My mum and dad went their separate ways when I was just a tot; I couldnt pick my dad out of a line-up if you paid me. At age five, mum and I moved in with my gran, and thats where I spent the entirety of my memorable childhood under her eagle eye.
Gran was what youd call challenging. Number one rule: obedience. Number two: hard graft. Anything nice about her? No chancemy memories are bare as old bones.
People complain about their childhoods, but honestly, I dont even bother. Theres nothing to reminisce about. Mum was no help, and in the nineties, running off wasnt an option. All I could do was daydream about moneypounds, not pence, and future independence. Gran liked to bark orders, telling mum and me exactly how life should beher way or the high street.
And so, we trudged on. In public, we put on a show, pretending everything was tea and biscuits.
When I hit Year 5, mums love life perked up. Along came a fella, and she got whisked off to his place. A year later, off I popped as well. My stepdad wasnt crazy about me, but at least he didnt actively dislike me. Compared to granwho was all sharp words and dodgy glanceslife with him felt positively heavenly.
Gran, of course, was firmly against the whole business, but mum just capitalised on the chance to escape grumpy old Queen Victoria. After that, the two barely exchanged a Christmas card.
I still ring gran now and then.
Once a month, I brace myself and give her a bell. Keep it brief and strictly small talknothing worth a soap opera script. I steer clear of the doom and gloom, stick to cheerful notes, and we swap basic pleasantries. Twice a year, birthdays and namedays, I show up with flowers and a Victoria sponge. Half an hour tops, then I leap for the door. Thats our communication summed up.
Nowadays, lifes pretty decentIve got a lovely bloke, a little one, and a close-knit family. My husband and I even took the plunge last year and bought a flat on mortgage in another city. Gran turned eighty just recently.
She used to be all prim and proper, running her own household solo, but lately, the wheels have come off.
Grans become a reclusecant even pop out to the corner shop, much less whip up shepherds pie. Mostly shes horizontal, though she shuffles around the house when needed. Shes been really under the weather lately, with neighbours pitching in for everything. The situation is such that she needs proper care.
Now, out of nowhere, distant relatives have started bombarding me with phone calls, harping on about my duties! They cant get hold of mum, since she and her husband are living abroad (the lucky devils), so they figure I must sort it all out.
But I know exactly how much of a nightmare this would be. Sure, she raised me, and looked after me, and taught me (probably how not to be like her, but still). On paper, its my turn to repay the favour. But I absolutely dont want to! Gran never showed me so much as a smidgen of affection when I was a child. Ive managed to let go of most of the resentment, but forgiveness? Dont be daft! Still, guilt creeps in, and I know the old bird needs help.
A sensible solution would be to find a carer, but my wallets tighter than Fort Knox. Theres the kid, the mortgage, and my son catches every bug that circulates.
What should I do?
Is the granddaughter obligated to look after tough old Gran, or can she rightly say, Not my circus, not my monkeysespecially since theres no inheritance at stake? She wants neither the inheritance nor the grandmother.
