Marianne Talbot But I have to say that, this time, what I loved was not having mum with me.
Such pleasure to go walking when I wanted, for as long as I wanted. So good to have people over for lunch and supper, and to be as noisy as I liked without fear of disturbing her. Bliss.
But what was even more blissful, in fact completely, utterly wonderful, was getting home and finding the house empty and exactly as I'd left it!
For nearly five years now, every time I've come home it has been to a house full of people, an upside down kitchen, and nothing where I would expect it. Instead of being able to unpack and lower myself back into everyday life, I'd find myself socialising with whoever was caring for mum. Then, when they left, having to take over the caring.
I'd find myself unpacking at midnight, as I parried mum's nocturnal forays, and then before getting mum up for daycare and going to work, I'd have to face all the emails, mail and telephone calls that had piled up while I was away. Within 24 hours I'd feel as stressed as I did before I went away.
This time I opened the front door and drank in the silence. I wandered from room to room loving the fact that everything was where it should be. I unpacked my case into the washing machine, opened my mail, dealt with phone messages and email, and within a couple of hours I was able to relax with a glass of wine. It was completely magical.
On my way home from the station I called in on mum. She recognised me immediately and was touchingly pleased to see me. It was sunny and warm so I suggested I take her in her wheelchair round the gardens. I warned her she'd have to behave or I'd spin her chair round. When I demonstrated, she egged me on to do just that. Then instead of walking her round, I ran her round, talking about when she and daddy used to do 'the ton' on his motorbike. Mum was giggling delightedly and insisting I go faster and faster.
She was always a speedfreak.
Written by Marianne Talbot