I am doing the best I can to join in and share things with the family. They are pleased to see me and as this is our good times I do the cakes and the tea and the lunch dinner supper whatever. They sit calmly chatting to mother as if she the apple the central line and all that. We hopeful she might die and leave us the house no way we do not speak about such stuff says my beastly sister Z she says when she goes then but not now.
The rotten smell is overwhelming she needs this house why she pretending as she and her hubby want it out. Then when she arranged a good rematch the thing is the children now grown up. Space is short they will not move out they want to stay indoors without much obliging they do not do the dinner they do nothing but computers and then they have their dinner and teas and what is the cook? The father cooked the biscuits is he not had better sorted the dishes? No someone else is doing them. Well good cheerful space is precious tidy up please.
The phone calls are bizarre like two faced foolish and innocent without being so. They ask me all manner of questions I reply to these monsters they do well to not snub me I did not kick mother out we could not live together but you got more space than she has. She asked to have her furniture around her. She does not throw anything out. What I'm I supposed to have done? Given her old room back? I am using that room. She cannot clean it because she wants me to clean all the house and I am painting the whole thing.
How long does it take to paint a house? More than five years because other things need doing as well? Name what? The flooring the sheds and stuff happening all the time now the social security must be after me because I am never going to be normal and well behaved.
Dad does nothing to give me money he wants to give me one. But do not worry he is giving mother the worst time ever. The night with her jumping screaming is insane why is she screaming as if she had the night chills it is often I do not like it. I speak to mother she does not reply she just stares stony like she had bad news. Her face had darkened I remember as if in the inn of despair she has drunk some poison to make her live like she disliked the very thought of the house, The doomed self she thinks as she creeps around and round not able to get up not able to be. She is just not herself I leave some food and try to bring comfortable cleaning but she urinates the moment I leave she says because she is doing magic and she does not care for that magic to leave the rooms.
Why is she in such a bad mood?
She has gone poppy and does not care to admit it the doctor said she was suffering from form of dementia. I do not know the term but she did not reason as anything but a miser she was no fool she was fond of us in her own way but her children came first.
They are three of them and you all are not it. She said as she lay in the hospital bed. Not my children nothing to do with it. I am not aware how I went and told the nurse she just nodded then confirmed mother had lost it.
My sisters had taken care of it and what did they get in return? They got what they asked for from father Christmas. I am left now holding the tax man and all the dirty laundry when does a woman have to get up in the morning is when the work is done. A woman's work is never done.
The doctor playing with mother's heart beat said certainly you are very irregular and was so nice and pleasant that mother shed a tear. What a jerk does she not care does she not feel? It is only a job to her mother said understanding.
Mother still wore the white ashen look she was passing through some time tunnel and did not know what to do. I had behaved rather well I said to myself then said it made me hell. I was now going to paint mother's walls so she could have a good armchair placed in and that she could watch television in comfort. I began painting that day it was so nice to do something about the barren stupid uncared for walls. Scrubbed cleaned but the smell of the woman would not leave. I did not stop did not stop to pause even for tea.
The day passing meant the end of painting but could not stop as if the whole thought process went into over drive. I became slightly driven by the damn injustice of it all. Why should she die when she had a perfectly good home she had done really not much wrong. She did kick her husband out of his bed and he had cancer and diabetic but that was nature he did not please her anymore.
I did not know what else to say? That in Britain everyone is for the rights of women and nothing to do with the rights of the individual. Everyone speaks in the same key women have the right to vote and veto but a man does something wrong out he goes.
It makes it kind of unhealthy? The new bigoted opinions when a woman is hungry or angry she has to become the new obeyed. The obedient must come forward and the disobedient must be forever silenced.
The doctor on the other hand was doing her bit as well.
The gusto the vim and everything in the little woman' masked a wit and a brilliance which shed us into awe as she looked dramatically that the chart and as mother's heart startled started to race and race. So we left her to her fate because we were only making it worse.
When that does happen what is wrong with the human wit and all that?