2007 – 2010 | The Uncomfortable Reality of Living with an Elderly Parent in an Overcrowded House

2007 was not an easy year. When my elderly mother moved into our already overcrowded house, each family member had to adjust to the uncomfortable reality of living with an elderly parent. First, we had to move and rearrange rooms in the house we had initially planned for three family members.

We were still accommodating Daniel, and his initial “temporary stay” had already lasted four years. Now we had to accommodate a fifth person. There were only three bedrooms, one for me and one for each of my children. Mercifully, there were two bathrooms, as well as the room we still called “the old garage,” under the same roof. Daniel had converted the old garage into a second living room, where all our computer equipment was kept, and where he had also slept until now.

When my mother arrived, she insisted on sleeping with me in my room. I flatly refused. I knew that would be asking for trouble with our different sleep patterns, as well as the daily devotions and prayer times my mother maintained (which left this heathen cold), and her foul-smelling medicine. Corné had the smallest bedroom, and we left him there in peace to play his noisy online computer games until late at night. Karen moved into the old garage, and she bought herself two wardrobes. The rest of the rooms in the house all had built-in closets.

Daniel had to move into my room. I don’t even want to elaborate on this, except to say that our relationship remained unchanged and non-intimate. His health was no longer good at that time, and mine was not much better as I was still taking Tamoxifen and growing in size every day, but luckily, it was a large room. We put two comfortable wooden beds and bedside tables in there to create a separate living space for each of us.

My mother had a comfortable, large bedroom right next to mine, with a bathroom across the passage and large windows that offered a lovely view of the sun-filled garden, where she could enjoy watching the birdlife or walk outside safely when she felt like it.

She insisted on bringing her own dilapidated furniture from Durban. This included a large wooden bed, a rickety chest of drawers that took up a quarter of the room, the portable toilet, a telephone table that she used as a bedside table, an enormous old wheelchair that she had never used and would never use (if I may get ahead of my story here). This meant that there was almost no space in the room to walk in (remember, there was also a built-in cupboard).

She insisted on using my bathroom, which I now shared with Daniel. Why? Because my children also used the other bathroom? The second bathroom had a larger shower and a full-length bath. I refused her request, and then she threatened to take care of her ablutions in the laundry room. The laundry room contained a large twin tub and an automatic washing machine, a tumble dryer, and a single sink – for laundry, not for people. I refused to discuss the matter. I know she kept a plastic bowl in her room to wash her face and feet, but she at least used the shower opposite her room when she needed a proper bath.

I didn’t have the time or the inclination to think about these things because Louis, my middle child, got married that year in Cape Town. Daniel and I left home for a week to meet Louis’s future in-laws, and during that time, we also visited Daniel’s mother, whom I hadn’t seen in years. It was a long road from Johannesburg to Riebeeck-West, where the prospective bride and groom lived at the time, and then to Port Elizabeth, where his mother lived, and we fought the whole way, about anything and everything. I was miserable the whole week.

I told Daniel’s mother straight out that it was time for her to start looking after her son so that I could live my life in peace. She flatly refused and said that it was the Lord’s will that the two of us should get back together. I was stunned by this declaration, and we did not discuss this again. Daniel just gave me a look like a little puppy that had been kicked, and when I got into my car at the end of the visit, Daniel was already in the passenger seat. He lived with me until the end of his life (if I may get ahead of my story again).

While we were away, Samuel and Emmy looked after my mother during the day, and the two children were at home at night. When I asked afterwards how the babysitting went, two workers and two children just rolled their eyes. Six months later, our whole family, except for my mother, flew to Cape Town to attend the wedding. I flew back home early the next morning. Emmy slept in my room while I was away to be near my mother. How did I go? I asked, and Emmy only rolled her eyes.

This time, Karen went to Port Elizabeth with her father to visit her grandmother. As far as I could tell, she also used the opportunity to persuade her grandmother to take her son back into her home. How did it go? I asked Karen, and she only rolled her eyes. I wouldn't leave home again for the next three years.

My mother’s church had only one place of worship in Johannesburg, and it was in Kempton Park. It would be a 140 km drive every week to drive her to church. I refused to work all week and then sacrifice my entire Sunday to take her to Kempton for the services that could last up to three hours each. She was already 87 years old by then, and I could swear she was grateful that I had given her the necessary excuse to stay home.

I suspected that my mother was beginning to feel lonely and excluded. She had lost my father in 1990 and my oldest brother, with whom she had lived for many years, in 2000. Now, Nettie, her friend and long-time caregiver, had also passed away, and she had to adjust to a new way of life. Sometimes I would wake up at night and hear her crying in her sleep, calling for my father. Then I would sit with her until she fell asleep again. But she could not or would not accept my family as substitutes.

I contacted the people from the church I had met before and invited them to visit us at our house on Saturdays. They showed up a few times, and then the friendly visits also started to dry up. The family (which at that time included my brother in Boksburg and the half-sisters who were still alive) were also invited to visit on weekends. We were more successful with the family visits. We didn’t really have any friends anymore. My mother always welcomed my brother as if he were the prodigal son, and then she would smuggle him out of the company to spend time alone with him. He had to advise her on her diet and her health and discuss her religious beliefs, and every word he said was received like gospel. I, the one who housed her and looked after her health and comfort day after day, never received such a friendly welcome when I came home at night.

I just rolled my eyes at this. There were many eye rolls in my house during the year 2007.

Featured image: Stylised photo of the garden outside my mom's bedroom window.

Video in body: We fed lots of birds and pigeons in our garden, and we loved watching them fighting and misbehaving at feeding time.