Living Together with My Mother: My Mum Is 86 Years Old

As it happened, I never managed to marry nor do I have any children. Life certainly took an odd turn for me, and now, at the age of 57, I find myself reflecting on it all. My birthday was just the other day, and we celebrated quietlyjust the two of usmyself and my dear mother. Theres no one else to invite, you see. I have no friends left, and mother and I have no other family to speak of.

We live together in our little flat and have always been each other’s support. My mother is now 86 years old. I often wonder what shall become of me when she is gone, but for now she is in remarkably good spirits. Every year she grows older, her health fades a bit more, but she refuses to let it stop her, and still enjoys her walks alone.

Though I am retired, I still pick up bits of work here and there since our pensions barely cover our needs. Yet I refuse to let it dampen my spirits, and I am grateful beyond measure for my precious mother. There are plenty less fortunate; some have neither a place to live, nor family, nor even a penny to their name.

But my mother and I live quietly and peacefully. In the evenings, we share a cup of tea, knit together, and watch our favourite films and programmes. At weekends, I bake a cake, and invite our neighbours round. They tell us stories about their families. I delight in the happiness of those who are well, and I pray that my mother and I may always escape calamity.

Thus is the life we lead. I wish dearly that these days might linger as long as possible, for both mother and me…