A few weeks back the phone rang as I was settling down to work. It was the manager of my mother’s estate office. The unwelcome news was that my mother’s neighbour was complaining again about noise from her radio in the middle of the night. The neighbour had now involved the council.
Full article: http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/mar/31/familyandrelationships.family5
This week my brother rang to say he had last-minute tickets to Madame Butterfly at the Royal Albert Hall. Could I bring Mum or would I prefer to bring my partner? I struggled with my conscience, but only briefly. “It’s difficult bringing Mum out at night. I’ll have to take the car instead of public transport.” What I really meant was I fancied an unencumbered night out. I knew how much she’d love Madame Butterfly, so because I felt guilty I decided to call in on her on my way to work.
When I arrive, Mum is up and dressed. She looks different in a way I can’t quite pin down until she says, “We’re looking for my teeth.” Her carer is there. She comes every morning to remind Mum to take her medicine and help tidy up. Mum seems to draw out the best in her carers, and her current one is no exception. She’s Ghanaian, sweet-natured and very conscientious. She’s also inventive and is currently using a ladle to empty my mother’s dishwasher, clogged up – again – with vast amounts of fat. I hold a bucket beside her and we discuss Mum’s increasingly alarming habit of leaving fat heating up on the stove.
I resume the hunt for the missing teeth
Read more:
http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/mar/17/familyandrelationships.family2
On Saturday, my mother arrives at my front door. She’s made her way over by bus because I’ve told her that we had a break-in the previous afternoon. This is one of her endearing characteristics: she is always on-side in a crisis. She never did symbolic occasions much, such as birthdays or Mother’s Day. But if any of us were having any difficulties she would always pitch up. It wasn’t to do anything in particular, just be there.
This instinct is still intact, driving her to undertake a journey she hasn’t managed on her own for a long time. Except by the time she arrives, she can’t remember why she has come. She remembers when she sees the front door. It looks as if a psycho with a battering ram has been at it and that it has taken many hours to board it up. Which is precisely the situation. “Oh no,” she says, “How dreadful”.
I tell her in some detail what has happened, the force used and how long it took to secure the door. She steps over the splintered wood and the shards of glass heading for the kitchen. “How did they get in?” she asks.
Read more
http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/mar/03/familyandrelationships.family10