I Cared for Him for Eight Long Years, Yet No One Ever Showed Their Gratitude

Ive spent eight years looking after him, and not a single thankyou ever slipped my way.

You all know how draining it is to tend to a sick person. Even when its a close relative, its a massive job, but I spent a good eight years caring for my daughterinlaws father. In truth, he was practically a stranger to me. And not a single word of gratitude ever crossed his familys lips. No wonder Im still a bit rattled.

Im 72 now, and the tale Im about to tell dates back almost fifteen years.

My husband passed away a long time ago. I have a son, a daughterinlaw and a grandson. My sons wife, Mabel, is a true English rose kind, sensible and eversohardworking. Her father, Arthur, was a maths teacher in a secondary school in Manchester before a serious illness knocked him off his feet.

We pulled out all the stops for his treatment, splashing out a small fortune on private care and medication a few thousand pounds here and there, even though the NHS covered most of it. I chipped in as best I could.

Eventually Arthur was confined to his bed, but there was no one left to look after him. My son was swamped with work and constant business trips. My grandson, James, was still at university. Mabel juggled a fulltime job. Her older sister, Lucy, lived in Birmingham and could only phone in sympathy.

Mabel wasnt allowed to call in sick. Her boss warned, Either you keep showing up, or well have to let you go. Naturally, she chose the job, and the burden of caring for her dad fell on me.

At first, Mabel asked me to pop over at least once a day just to cook and feed him. I agreed. I never imagined Id be stuck in that role for eight whole years.

In the beginning Id stay for two hours, then head home. Over time, however, Mabel kept adding tasks. Before long I was spending the entire day with Arthur, only returning home at night, and walking back at dawn.

My son felt sorry for me. He could see how hard it was, and urged me to quit the charitable work, though he never mentioned it to his wife, since he was living in their flat.

It got worse when Lucy started phoning me with endless directives: how to dress him, what to feed him, when to turn him on his side. Whenever I couldnt meet her everchanging demands, Mabel would get irate, snapping, If you dont like it, take your son and go! Ill manage on my own. Ill hire a babysitter! I endured that for eight years.

Then Arthur passed away. None of his daughters ever thanked me for looking after their dad for so long. The eldest even claimed Id volunteered, not been forced, to watch him.

Thats the long and short of it: you do something decent for people, and theyre so unapologetically selfabsorbed they cant even muster a thank you.