Parenting dilemma
My French landlady was back yesterday. Gone for a fortnight, she came back with a delicious French cake. She said the cake was from the mountains of massive central. Those two French words, she pronounced it in her very French way.
The cake turned out be one of the tastiest I’ve eaten. So much so that I discarded my dinner, consisting of rice and curry, and dived in to finish my share of the cake. Then, when I thanked her and asked how her trip to her mother’s home had been, she gave a long, but somewhat interesting monologue.
My landlady’s sixty-two. But you’d think she’s only fifty, looking at her. She’s lean and fit, very active, and still bubbling with life. Even her mother’s still surviving. That’s where though, the trouble lies for her.
Her mother is a senile and a sick nonagenarian. She needs constant supervision. Her children, rather than keep her at a home for the elderly, volunteered to take care of her. My landlady visits her mother after every five weeks, to stay with her for a fortnight. While she’s away, her two brothers take turns to look after her.
In quite a distressing way, but without criticising her mother, she described the demanding time she spend taking care of her mother. “My mother either sleeps too much, or doesn’t sleep at her,” she said. “You have to sleep next to her and be vigilant, in case she decides to get up, and wants to use the toilet. Her medicine intake needs to be timely. And you’ve got to cook to fed her and yourself. Sometimes, days can go by, without me getting any sleep.
“We have to take care of her. We have to, what to do?” she said. At this time, I was remembering my own mother and my grandmother. Would I be able to do something like that? Could I be so selfless?
“But in the process, for her, we destroy our own life. I can’t read, I can’t practise piano, I can’t be with my boyfriend. And I can’t even wish for her to die soon, so that I can have all that back,” she concluded. A sacrifice demanded you to give up so many things. I’ve been taught to do all these things for your parents. But not only was it daunting to listen to her, I was actually mortified.
In Nepal, I guess it’s easier to take of the elders than in the West. A combine family system still persists. Money buys you not only cheap labour but total loyalty of the person also. So earn enough money and you won’t have to suffer as much as my landlady has, even though, she’s more wealthy than I can ever be.
It was a comforting thought – that money can take you out of trouble. I’ve never nursed anyone. I’m not good at it. And it’s probably good if I don’t. I guess it’s a selfish thought though. But who isn’t selfish, in their own way? Doesn’t mean I don’t love my family any less.
My French landlady was back yesterday. Gone for a fortnight, she came back with a delicious French cake. She said the cake was from the mountains of massive central. Those two French words, she pronounced it in her very French way.
The cake turned out be one of the tastiest I’ve eaten. So much so that I discarded my dinner, consisting of rice and curry, and dived in to finish my share of the cake. Then, when I thanked her and asked how her trip to her mother’s home had been, she gave a long, but somewhat interesting monologue.
My landlady’s sixty-two. But you’d think she’s only fifty, looking at her. She’s lean and fit, very active, and still bubbling with life. Even her mother’s still surviving. That’s where though, the trouble lies for her.
Her mother is a senile and a sick nonagenarian. She needs constant supervision. Her children, rather than keep her at a home for the elderly, volunteered to take care of her. My landlady visits her mother after every five weeks, to stay with her for a fortnight. While she’s away, her two brothers take turns to look after her.
In quite a distressing way, but without criticising her mother, she described the demanding time she spend taking care of her mother. “My mother either sleeps too much, or doesn’t sleep at her,” she said. “You have to sleep next to her and be vigilant, in case she decides to get up, and wants to use the toilet. Her medicine intake needs to be timely. And you’ve got to cook to fed her and yourself. Sometimes, days can go by, without me getting any sleep.
“We have to take care of her. We have to, what to do?” she said. At this time, I was remembering my own mother and my grandmother. Would I be able to do something like that? Could I be so selfless?
“But in the process, for her, we destroy our own life. I can’t read, I can’t practise piano, I can’t be with my boyfriend. And I can’t even wish for her to die soon, so that I can have all that back,” she concluded. A sacrifice demanded you to give up so many things. I’ve been taught to do all these things for your parents. But not only was it daunting to listen to her, I was actually mortified.
In Nepal, I guess it’s easier to take of the elders than in the West. A combine family system still persists. Money buys you not only cheap labour but total loyalty of the person also. So earn enough money and you won’t have to suffer as much as my landlady has, even though, she’s more wealthy than I can ever be.
It was a comforting thought – that money can take you out of trouble. I’ve never nursed anyone. I’m not good at it. And it’s probably good if I don’t. I guess it’s a selfish thought though. But who isn’t selfish, in their own way? Doesn’t mean I don’t love my family any less.
posted by Faris at 10:17 am
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