Bedtime story
It’s
for the best
It was a lovely funeral; everybody said so. Reverend
Wilkins said such nice things about mother – even though she never went to
church. We all cried. I cried so much they unlocked the handcuffs so I could
get a packet of tissues out of my pocket. Alice, standing next to the
policewoman, leaned forward and gave me an encouraging smile.
Mother didn’t want to go into a home; she said so,
time and time again. But she couldn’t look after herself; not really. When dad
died we’d wanted her to move into a bungalow; those stairs were so steep. But
she was adamant. ‘I’ve lived in this house since me and your dad got married,
and I’m stopping here ‘till they carry me out in a box.’ And now they had done.
During the singing of ‘Abide with Me’ my thoughts drifted back to that Monday morning.
Alice had called round and, as usual, the question of a ‘care home’ came
up. I had just got mother out of bed and
dressed, and she was in one of her moods. The three of us stood there on the
landing, mother ranting and raving, saying she was ‘going into no home’, and me
and Alice trying to calm her down.
Finally, Alice put her arm gently around mother’s
shoulder and whispered in her ear. ‘All right, darling, if you don’t want to go
into a home, you don’t have to.’ Then gave her a push. I was surprised at the
noise mother made as she bounced down the stairs. I guess it was the fact that she
was so frail, her bones were jangling. The cat appeared at the kitchen door to
see what all the fuss was about.
‘It’s for the best.’ Alice said. I nodded. I would
never have had the courage to chuck mother downstairs; so Alice had done it for
me.
Where would we be without social-workers.
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