I sometimes wonder about what seems an increasingly large number of the next generation (see Mumsnet), some of whom complain endlessly about their parents for all sorts of reasons and some of whom describe them as toxic, a truly horrible description, and choose to have nothing to do with them, even cut them off from their grandchildren. What will happen to them when they start ageing and finding life a little bit hard? What picture have they put in the minds of their own children.
My aunts cared for my grandmother, my sisters-in-law and brothers-in-law cared for my husband's parents. We looked after my mother in the last five years of her life. Yes, in some ways it was a burden in the sense that she became increasingly frail and we had to cope with all sorts of health problems that because of her age simply got worse and, indeed, just having her living in our house affected our previous pattern of life and our freedom.
I rejoice in my memory of her ninetieth birthday when all the extended family and many friends, mostly ours who loved and respected her, including my daughter who flew in from New Zealand for the celebration made it a very special occasion. I rejoice in the memory of her holding her first great grandson so carefully in her frail arms and singing so melodiously to him. I remember when I cried after Beth had gone back to New Zealand and my mother stroked my head with her shaky hand to comfort me. I remember so many special times when my lovely old mother and I laughed together about putting on clean knickers, played cribbage when I cheated like mad so she'd win and still scored the points, I remember her love for me all my life until the day she died.
I have mostly forgotten the awfulness of emptying the commode, the long visits to the Clinic for the Elderly, the night the floor and she was covered in shit and it took us hours to clean everything up, including a shakenand frightened old woman.
I remember her love and wisdom when a friend committed suicide and I, a young woman, had thought I could save him. I remember her hours beside my hospital bed when everyone thought I was going to die. I remember all her love, all her kindness, all her compassion, all her strength, all her care.
My daughter has a picture shaped by the family she has known and lived with. It doesn't include abandoning or even bad-mouthing me.