Oh, its such a tough situation My son, Oliver, got married ten years ago, and since then, hes been crammed into a tiny one-bed flat in Manchester with his wife, Emily, and their little girl. Seven years back, he bought a plot of land and slowly started building a house. At first, there was nothingjust silence. After a year, the walls went up, and the foundation was laid. Then silence again. Money was tight. Year after year, they scraped together whatever they could, saving every penny for materials, never giving up.
Even now, theyve only managed to finish the ground floor. They dream of a proper two-storey home, with room for all of us. Olivers always been kindhed say, *Mum, youll live with us, youll have your own room.* They even downsized from a two-bed flat to a smaller one, using the extra money for the build. But its a squeeze, especially with the little one.
Every time they visit, its all about the housewhere the bathroomll go, how theyll insulate the walls, the wiring I listen, but my heart sinks. Not a word about how Im doing, no care for my wellbeingjust pipes, plaster, loft space.
So one day, I just asked straight out:
*So dyou want me to sell my house?*
They lit up. Got all excited, started gushing about how wed all live together. But I looked at Emily and *knew*I couldnt bear sharing a roof with her. She barely tolerates me, and I bite my tongue just to keep the peace.
Still, it breaks my heart. Olivers working so hard. Itll take another ten years to finish if I dont help. And I *do* want to ease his burden. But I had to ask:
*Where would I live, then?*
Emily didnt hesitate. *Youve got that little cottage in the countryside, havent you? You could stay there. Peaceful, quiet, no one to bother you.*
The cottage *exists*, yes. But its a forty-year-old wooden shack. No heating. In summer? Finefresh air, maybe bake an apple pie. But *winter*? Chopping firewood? Trudging through snow to the outhouse? My legs arent what they were, my blood pressures all over the place. And they want me to spend *winter* there alone?
I tried to explain: *But its freezing, the bathrooms outside, its not livable.*
Her reply? *Plenty of village folk live like that. They manage.*
There it was. No offer to stay with them till the house was done, no promise to check on me. Just: *Sell your housewere stuck without the money!*
Then, the other day, I overheard Emily on the phone to her mum: *We could move her in with the neighbour. Theyd keep each other company. Then we could sell the flat quick, before she changes her mind.*
My legs went weak. So thats the plan. Theyve decided my future. And here I was, thinking Id at least have a room in their home. But noshe wants to shove me off to the neighbour and snatch the keys from my hands
I went to see Arthur, the neighbour. Hes a widower, lives alone. We had tea, chatted about old times. But *live* with him? *Forced* into it? Humiliating.
I sit and wonder maybe I *should* sell? Give them the money, help Oliver. Maybe hell make space for me later? Maybe hell be kind?
But then I look at Emily, remember her words and fear creeps in. What if they push me out after? What if its back to the cottage with a *cheers, thanks*?
Im nearly seventy. I dont want to end up homeless. I dont want to be some helpless old woman, passed around like a burden. I dont want to die in that freezing shack, under a blanket, with mice scuttling about. And I *wont* be a problem for my son and his wife.
I just want a quiet old age. In *my* home. In *my* bed. Where I know where everything is. Where I can close my eyes without fear.
Im a mother, yes. But Im a person, too.
