What Goes Around

By M. Nantha


"Are we there yet?" It was the mother of all annoying questions. If this was what was meant by retribution, Marge regretted ever having kids.

She silently counted to 10 and willed herself not to lose her cool with five-year-old Penny, who was seated in the back of the minivan and had obviously become restless. They were on their way to an old folks' home, a cosy, quiet little rest house about an hour's drive out of town.

The last thing Marge had wanted to do was pack her mother off to some home, but things had gone from bad to worse. For the last three years, she had struggled against all odds to keep her mother with her family in their double-storey suburban bungalow. But with Alzheimer's disease, it wasn't easy.

Harriet was 76. She wet her bed every time her diaper overflowed. She would call out for someone to attend to her whenever that happened, never mind that it was 4am. Then, unable to go back to sleep, she'd stay awake and expect someone to keep her company.

No one was in the mood for a little tete-a-tete at that ungodly hour. What was most exasperating was that Harriet would nod off just as it was time to start the day, and Marge would drag herself to work, like a zombie.

She had had to take time off from the office to attend to Harriet, like taking her for regular hospital check-ups, giving her medication, and making sure she ate the right foods.

Marge had seen no less than four maids come and go over the last couple of years; all of them left because caring for a grumpy, demanding, bed-ridden old woman was not in their job description.

She had put her own family life on hold because of this. Jason wanted to plan for a second child, but she kept putting it off. How could she manage a newborn in the house when her own mother was the way she was?

It had come to a point where Marge knew she had to either exercise her last option, or risk losing her sanity. The guilt trip was tremendous. What was it about history repeating itself?

Yet, for her own sake, she had had to make the heartbreaking decision, which she tried to convince herself was for the best, as Harriet would get the attention and care at the home which she couldn't give.

"It is for the best, sweetheart," Jason reassured her the night before Harriet's departure, as if reading her minds. She kept repeating that to herself in the car during the journey.

Thirty years on, Penny still had not forgiven her mother for what she had done to nana. Harriet had been there from day one for Penny and the two of them had formed a bond tighter than a Boy Scout's reef knot.

Harriet had meant the world to Penny; even as an adult, Penny could remember crying her eyes out as a little girl when she realised what had happened to nana. When Marge told her nana wasn't going to live with them anymore, she had not spoken to her mother for days. Such was the bitterness she felt.

While other kids talked about how great their grandma's pot pies tasted, or how granny had knitted a cool new sweater for them, Penny could only listen and miss her own nana even more.

She vowed never to deprived her own children of a loving grandma, the way she felt she had been cheated of one.

"These are people, for goodness sake," she told herself. "You don't just chuck people out like old furniture."

Her twins, Katy and Shawna, arrived just after Penny had received a huge promotion. Marge was, of course, on hand to care for the bundles of joy. The girls were left in Marge's care as both Penny and her husband continued with their ultra-busy jobs.

Penny could not thank her mother enough for the support she rendered. Shortly after that, however, Marge was diagnosed with cancer, and was forced to move in with them.

The chemo soon took its toll on everyone. Marge needed daily injections and she only trusted Penny to administer them for her. She refused a nursemaid, even though her daughter offered to get her one. Penny was on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

Two years later, she found herself behind the wheel of her car, on an hour-long journey heading out of town. Her girls were horsing around in the back; fidgety because the scenery had not changed for the past 20 minutes.

She let out a sigh and counted to 10 when, for the fifth time in half-and-hour, they asked: "Are we there yet?"

From Starmag