«Mum, maybe she should go to a care home,» whispered Emily in the hallway.
«Emily, whats taking so long? Dinners getting cold!» came an irritated voice from the kitchen. It was James, her husband.
Emily Wilson adjusted her mothers pillow, tucked the blanket snugly around her, and only then replied, «Coming, Im coming! I was just helping Mum with her watershe needed to take her pills.»
«Same thing every day,» James grumbled when she finally sat at the table. «Pills, doctors, changing padsas if we dont have anything else to do.»
Emily silently started on her soup. What could she say? It *was* the same routine, day after day. It had been eighteen months since theyd taken her mother in after the stroke. Back then, it had seemed temporaryjust until she got back on her feet. But time passed, and Margaret only grew weaker.
«Listen,» James said carefully, «maybe we should think about a care home? They have round-the-clock care, doctors on staff…»
«Stop it!» Emily cut him off sharply. «How can you even say that? Shes my *mother*!»
James sighed and dropped the subject. But as Emily finished her soup, she knewdeep downhe wasnt wrong. She could feel herself wearing thin, day by day. Teaching at the school drained her, and at home, her mother couldnt be left alone for even a minute.
After lunch, once James had gone out to the garden shed, Emily sat beside her mum. Margaret lay with her eyes closed but breathing steadily. Emily took her handthin, cool to the touch.
«Mum, how are you feeling? Fancy a cuppa?»
The old woman slowly opened her eyes and looked at her daughter with a long, knowing gaze.
«Em I know Ive become a burden to you.»
«Mum, dont say that! Youre *not* a burden.»
«Dont pretend, love. I see how tired you are. And Jameshes a good man, putting up with me, but its hard on him. You two are still youngyou should be *living*, not looking after an old woman.»
Emilys throat tightened. Her mother had always been sharp, and illness hadnt dulled that.
«Mum, dont think like that. Well manage.»
Margaret gave her daughters hand the faintest squeeze.
«Remember when you had scarlet fever as a little girl? Fever so high you were deliriousI didnt leave your bedside for three weeks. Your dad said we should take you to hospital, but I wouldnt let them. I thought, no, shell only get better at home, with me.»
«I remember, Mum.»
«And when you went off to university, I worried youd forget about me. But you came home every weekend, always brought little treats…»
Emily stayed quiet. Memories washed over her like a waveher mother had always been her rock. Working two jobs just so she could get an education, never spending a penny on herself if it meant Emily had what she needed.
«Mum, lets not talk about this now. You should rest.»
«No, Em, listen. Ive had time to think these past months. And Ive realisedreal love isnt about holding on. Sometimes, real love is *letting go*.»
Just then, Lucy, the little girl from next door, peeked in. She was about ten, bright-eyed and freckled.
«Auntie Em, can I see Granny Margie? I picked her some flowers from the garden.»
«Of course, sweetheart.»
Lucy hurried to the bed and held out a small bunch of golden marigolds. «For you, Granny! Theyre like tiny suns.»
Margaret struggled to sit up a little, took the flowers, and smiled.
«Thank you, poppet. Youre such a good girl. Hows school?»
«Brilliant! I know all my letters now, and I can read! And yesterday, Mum gave me money and I bought bread and milk all by myself.»
«Thats wonderful! Growing up so clever and independent.»
Lucy chatted a little longer before dashing back outside to play. Emily stayed, turning the marigolds in her hands.
«See what a bright little thing she is?» Margaret said softly. «Her parents arent afraid to let her do things on her own. Thats how she learns.»
«What are you getting at, Mum?»
«That sometimes too much fussing does more harm than good. Remember old Mrs. Bennett from down the road? She coddled her Tommy so much he couldnt even make his own tea at forty.»
Emily smiled despite herself. Tommy *had* been hopelessonly learned to fend for himself after his mum passed.
That evening, after Margaret had fallen asleep, Emily went to the kitchen to make tea. James was back from the shed, flipping through a brochure at the table.
«Whats that?»
«Just some info on a care home. In case we ever need it,» he said quickly, tucking it away. «Em, dont be cross. I was talking to Dave todayhis mums in one of these places. Theyve got proper care, activities…»
«James, *stop*.»
«Just *listen* for once!» His voice rose. «Im not a monster. I care about Margaret too. But look at youyoure running yourself ragged. Works noticed youre distracted. When was the last time you slept properly? Or even just *talked* to me like we used to?»
Emily put the kettle on and leaned against the counter. Outside, leaves were turning goldautumn was coming. Her mother had always loved autumn, called it the prettiest season. But this year, she barely saw it.
«Its just» Emily swallowed. «Im scared shell be miserable there. Shes lived in her own home her whole life, with her own things. And therestrangers, strange walls…»
James came over, rested a hand on her shoulder.
«And dont you think it hurts *her* to see you like this? Women understand these things. Maybe *she* wants you to think of yourself for once?»
The next day, Emily came home from work early. Their neighbour, Auntie Joan, met her in the hall.
«Em, your mums been ever so down today. I popped in, and she barely said a word.»
«Really? She was fine yesterday.»
Emily went to her mothers room. Margaret was lying with her face turned to the wall.
«Mum, how are you? Fancy a cuppa?»
«Dont want any tea,» came the muffled reply.
«What *do* you want, then? Shall I put the telly on?»
«Dont want anything. Just lying here, useless, making everyones life difficult.»
Emily sat on the edge of the bed.
«Mum, whats wrong? You were fine yesterday.»
Margaret slowly turned over.
«Em I heard you and James last night. About the care home.»
Emilys face flushed.
«Mum, it was just a *chat*»
«Im not deaf. Or daft. I know Ive worn you both down. James is rightsomethings got to give.»
Emilys eyes stung.
«Youre *not* going anywhere. Well manage.»
«Youll *manage*? But will you be *happy*? Em, Im seventy-eight. Ive had my life. Yours is still aheadI dont want you spending it looking after a sick old woman.»
«Dont *say* that!»
«Why not? Its the truth. Youre young, lovely. You and James should be traveling, spoiling grandkids. Instead, youre changing my pads.»
Emily broke down then. Her mother handed her a tissue.
«Dont cry, love. Im not scolding you. Youre a good daughter. But sometimes the kindest thing is to *let go*.»
«*Let go*? Youre my *mum*!»
«Exactly. Thats why I can. Maybe maybe Id even be happier there. People my own age, someone to talk to. Here, I just lie about staring at walls all day.»
That night, Emily couldnt sleep. She lay listening to James steady breaths, turning her mothers words over. Maybe she *was* being selfishkeeping her close not for *her* sake, but for her own peace of mind.
The next morning, before work, she peeked in on her mum.
«Sleep alright?»
«Not a wink. Been thinking. Em lets at least *look* at that place James mentioned.»
«Mum»
«Just *look*. Well decide after.»
After school, they went. The care home was in a quiet, green part of town, surrounded by gardens. The building was modern, airy. The managera warm woman in her fiftiesgave them a tour.
The rooms were small but cosy, each with a bed, side table, and chair. Windows looked out onto the gardens.
«Our residents are all ages,» the manager explained. «Many form friendshipswalks, dominoes in the lounge. Weve a library, telly in the common room. Doctor visits daily, nurses round the clock.»
In the dining room, elderly residents chatted quietly over meals. They looked content.
«How often do families visit?» Emily asked.
«Varies. Some every weekend, others monthly. So long as theyre not forgotten entirely.»
On the drive home, Margaret was quiet. Only as they pulled up did she speak.
«You know its not bad there. People seem nice.»
Emily helped her inside, got her settled in bed. Margaret took her hand.
«Em, Ive thought hard today. I think Id like to move there.»
«Mum»
«Let me finish. Its *my* choice. There, I wont feel like a burden. And you can live properly again. Youll visitI know you will.»
«*Every* weekend.»
«Good. Now let me rest. Call them tomorrow.»
Emily stepped into the hall and quietly cried. James heard, came and held her.
«Dont cry. Its the right thing.»
«I *know*. But it still hurts.»
A week later, they moved Margaret in. Emily helped arrange her thingsphotos, her favourite teacup, a warm throw.
«Alright, Mum? Settling in?»
«Course I am. Im not a child. Now *you* look after yourself. And that good husband of yours.»
As Emily left, Margaret stood at the window, waving. Small, silver-hairedbut somehow lighter than shed been at home.
Time passed. Emily visited every weekend, sometimes with James. Margaret talked about new friends, walks in the gardens, books from the library. Shed come *alive* again.
«You know,» she admitted once, «I feel *useful* here. I read to Dorisher eyes arent good. And yesterday I helped Mary write to her grandsonher hands shake.»
Emily listened and understoodher mother had been right. Here, she wasnt a burden. She could still *help.*
At home, life changed too. Emily slept properly again, focused better at work, started going to the theatre with James. They even took a holidayfirst in years.
One visit, Emily bumped into Mrs. Harris from their old street in the care home corridor.
«Emily! I didnt know your mum was here! Weve become friendschat all the time.»
«How is she?»
«Brilliant! Better than half of us here. Always helping, cheering people up. Proper life of the party!»
Emily smiled. Her mother had always been like thatbright, lively. Here, she could be herself again.
That evening, as she said goodbye, Emily whispered,
«You were right, Mum. This was the best thing.»
Margaret patted her hand.
«Knew youd see it. Real love, Emits not about clinging on. Its giving the ones you love the freedom to be happy.»
On the drive home, Emily mulled over her mothers words. She realisedthis lesson wouldnt just apply to parents. One day, shed have to let her own children go too. And that would be love as well.
Outside, autumn leaves glowed gold. For the first time in years, Emily truly saw their beauty.
