29December 2025 Diary
I trudged up the stairs to my flat on the fourth floor, bags heavy in my arms. The shop had been full of good quality producefresh bread, milk, cheese, a dozen eggs, crisp vegetables, ripe fruit, even a tin of smoked salmon. I never skimp on food; my pension, though modest, is enough to keep the pantry wellstocked.
The flat was quiet and cool. I set the bags on the kitchen table and began to unpack. The thought of treating my only son, James, to a special treat made me smile, even though it had been two years since he last visited. He hadnt even managed to call on my birthday.
James, dear, I sighed, maybe youll pop by next weekend?
I dialed the familiar number. A long ring, then an automated voice told me the line was temporarily unavailable. I placed the handset on the windowsill.
Probably just busy, I muttered. Ill try again this evening.
Evening came, and the phone was still silent. I turned on the telly to fill the empty hours. A new drama flickered across the screen, but my thoughts kept drifting back to my son.
James has always been my pride. I raised him alone after my husband left when he was only seven. He was clever and determined, finished school with a gold medal and earned a place at a prestigious university to study economics. After graduating he landed a job at a major firm, and I have always been proud of his achievements. He used to visit often, sharing stories of work and future plans.
Then everything changed. He met Alana, a beautiful woman from a welloff family. Six months later they were married and moved to Manchester. At first James called every week and visited once a month, but gradually the calls became scarce and the visits even rarer. The last time he came was Christmas last year.
I switched off the television and brewed a pot of tea, wiping a plate of my favourite biscuits. My heart felt uneasy. I knew he had his own life, his job, his family, but I longed to hear his voice and see his face.
A knock at the door in the morning turned out to be my neighbour, Martha Evans.
Eleanor, how are you? Would you like to come over for tea? Ive baked a cake, she said cheerfully.
Thanks, Martha, but Im not feeling well. Maybe another time, I replied.
She was kind, but I wasnt in the mood for conversation. I decided to send James a message. I typed on the smartphone he had given me for my sixtieth birthday: James, how are you? I called earlier but didnt get an answer. Could you drop by? I miss you terribly. I pressed send and waited.
A few hours later his reply arrived: Mum, sorry, swamped with work. Ill try to visit next month.
The month passed and still no visit. I told myself not to bother him; he had his own life and a demanding job.
One afternoon, scrolling through my Facebook feed, I saw a picture of James standing in front of a handsome house with Alana and a golden retriever named Rex. The caption read: Our new home! Dreams do come true!
My chest tightened. He had bought a house without even telling me! All I learned about his milestones came from the internet, as if I were a stranger.
I called him again. This time he answered almost immediately.
Mum, hi! How are you? his voice was bright.
I saw your photos, dear. Congratulations on the house! Why didnt you tell me?
Oh, Mum, I completely forgot. So much has happenedwork, the move. Im sorry.
I understand. When will you come over to show me the place? I miss you.
I dont know, Mum. Im swamped maybe you could visit us? See how weve settled.
Your place? Thats a long way for me, I stammered, feeling a pang of foolishness.
He laughed, promised to call later, and hung up. I stared at the dead screen, a mixture of hope and disappointment swirling inside me.
Maybe Ill bake a pie for when James comes home hungry, I thought, then chided myself, What nonsensehe lives miles away now.
Days slipped by. I went shopping, watched the telly, and occasionally accepted Marthas offers for a cuppa. Yet the loneliness lingered; I stopped calling James so as not to intrude.
The New Year approached, and I decided to treat myself to a small celebration. I bought a modest fir tree, a few new baubles, and the ingredients for a festive feastsalads, roast chicken, apple crumbleJamess favourites. Perhaps hed call to wish me a happy New Year.
At midnight, the chimes of Big Ben rang out over the city, the Prime Ministers broadcast filled the air, and my phone remained silent. I sat at the table until three in the morning, still waiting. When fatigue finally overtook me, I fell asleep on the couch.
In the early hours, a brief message lit up the screen: Happy New Year, Mum. Wishing you health and happiness. No personal words, no question about how Id been.
I stared at the untouched food, feeling as though I were a stranger in my own home.
A week later I visited my old friend Gwendolyn, a nurse at the local health centre. She greeted me in the clinics corridor with a bright smile.
Eleanor, you look radiant! Whats the secret? she asked.
Just age, I laughed weakly.
Hows James?
Hes fine. Bought a house in the suburbs, works a lot.
Does he visit?
Rarely. Hes very busy.
Gwendolyns eyes softened. Eleanor, you live alone. That isnt healthy. Have you considered moving closer to James?
I cant be a burden, I whispered. My ailments would just be trouble for him.
Dont say that! Youre his mother, not a burden. Come over for tea after my shift. We can talk.
That evening, over tea at Gwendolyns kitchen, I finally confessed how lonely I felt, how his silence cut me deeply.
You understand his life, but cant he spare a few minutes each month? A simple call, a proper conversation? she pressed.
Did I ever tell him? I asked.
No. Youve kept silent, fearing hed think youre demanding.
Maybe I should be more assertive, I mused.
Back home, I left a voicemail for James: Son, please call when you can. I need to speak with you. The next day he returned the call.
Mum, whats wrong? Are you alright? he asked.
Im fine, just wanted to hear your voice.
Can we talk tonight?
Of course, call whenever youre free.
He never called that evening, nor the next day, nor the day after. I decided not to pester him further.
In early spring I felt my heart race and my blood pressure spike. An ambulance arrived, doctors gave me a quick injection and advised a hospital stay, but I refused. Who would tend my flat? Who would water the plants? What if James decided to visit and found the house empty?
Martha, ever thoughtful, began stopping by daily with fresh bread, soup, or meatloaf.
Eleanor, perhaps you should call James? she suggested one morning.
No, Martha. He already has enough on his plate. I dont want to add to his worries.
But hes your son! He should know youre ill, Martha insisted.
Ill tell him when Im better. I dont want him to rush over only to find me weak.
Weeks turned into months. My health waxed and waned. Jamess calls became brief, always ending with a hurried goodbye.
One evening a knock sounded at the door. I struggled to rise from the armchair, wondering who could be calling. Usually Martha phoned before a visit.
Opening the door, a young woman with a large tote bag stood there.
Good afternoon, are you Eleanor Whitaker? she asked.
Yes, and you are?
Im Emily Clarke, a social care officer. Your neighbour Martha called, saying you might need some help.
I was taken aback; I hadnt asked for assistance. Emily stepped inside, spreading paperwork on the kitchen table.
Youll need to sign a care agreement. Ill visit three times a week to help with chores, shopping, and check your blood pressure. Its all free.
I didnt request this
Martha, from the hallway, nodded. Shed been worried after I nearly fell reaching for a tin on the top shelf a few days earlier.
I understand, I said softly, feeling my strength wane. Thank you.
Emily proved gentle and efficient, quickly taking charge of the household tasks. Over time I grew accustomed to her visits, even looking forward to them.
During one tea break, Emily asked, Do you have children?
My son, James, I replied.
Does he visit?
Rarely. Hes extremely busy with his business and family.
Does he know about your health?
No. I dont want to worry him.
Emilys eyes softened. My grandmother lived alone too. Her mother worked far away and visited seldom. She regretted not being there for her in the final days. Perhaps you should tell James how you feel?
I realized I had been hiding my condition. Every time he called, I said I was fine, not wanting to disturb him.
Youre right, Emily. Ill call him tonight, I decided.
I sat with the phone, gathering my thoughts. Finally, I dialed.
James answered after a short pause.
Mum? Its latewhats happening? he sounded concerned.
I I wanted to talk, my voice trembled.
Whats wrong? he asked, his tone shifting to accusation.
Im ill, dear. My heart
Why didnt you tell me? he exclaimed, a note of reproach in his voice. You should have said something!
I didnt want to burden you. Your life is full.
Are you in hospital? he pressed.
No, at home. A care worker comes to help.
A care worker? Mum, Ill come tomorrow, he said urgently.
Dont, James. I can manage. I just wanted you to know.
Ill be there, he insisted.
I hung up, heart pounding. The thought of him arriving, seeing my frailty, perhaps moving me init both frightened and relieved me. I didnt want to be a burden to his new family.
The next morning I rose early, tidied the flat as best I could, and prepared a simple lunch, hoping to greet him properly.
He arrived in the early afternoon, bags in hand.
Mum! he exclaimed, embracing me, and tears welled in my eyes.
James, Im so glad youre here!
He examined me, noticing my pallor and the dullness in my eyes.
Mum, why didnt you tell me you were unwell? Why keep it hidden?
I didnt want to upset you. You have your work, your wife, your home
Mum, youre my family, he said, taking my hands. Ive been selfish, thinking only of my career. I never realized how alone you were.
I stroked his arm, feeling a strange mix of sorrow and relief.
Its enough that youre here now, I whispered.
We sat at the kitchen table for hours, talking. He spoke about his job, the new house, his plans. I listened, grateful simply to be in his presence.
Later, Emily entered, surprised to see a man in the flat, but quickly recognized James.
Good afternoon, you must be James. Im Emily, the care worker, she said.
Thank you, he replied. I didnt know Mum was unwell.
Emily gave a knowing glance at me.
James turned to me, his expression resolute.
Mum, Im taking you to live with us, he announced.
What? No, I cant leave my flat, I protested, fearing Id be a nuisance.
Alaine will be delighted. Weve wanted you to move in for ages, but I kept postponing, thinking youd rather stay, he explained. I was wrong.
Ill only be a bother, I whispered.
Youll never be a bother. Youre my mother. I want to care for you as youve always cared for me.
If I refuse?
Ill move closer anyway, maybe work remotely. But I wont let you stay alone.
Tears streamed down my cheeks. I never imagined he would abandon his life for me.
Alright, I said softly. Ill go with you.
James hugged me tightly.
Thank you, Mum. I promise youll be well with us.
The following days were a whirlwind. James helped me pack, sorted out the lease, and said heartfelt goodbyes to my neighbours, especially Martha.
Thank you, Martha, I said, embracing her. If it werent for you, Id still be stuck here with my ailments.
Dont mention it, Eleanor. Now youll be with your son. Hes a good lad; he just got a bit lost.
I see that now, I smiled.
A week later James drove me to his new home in the suburbs of Manchester. The house was spacious, modern, with a tidy garden.
This is your room, Mum, James said, opening the door to a bright, cosy bedroom he and Alana had prepared.
Alana welcomed me warmly, showing me around and explaining the daily routine. I felt genuinely welcomed.
That evening, the three of us sat on the veranda, and James suddenly turned to me.
Mum, Im sorry. I was selfish, only thinking about my career. I forgot I had a mother whod always been there when I was down.
Its all right, dear. The important thing is were together now.
I promise Ill never let this happen again. Ill never leave you alone.
I looked at my son, my daughterinlaw, and the house that now felt like my home too, and for the first time in years I felt a genuine happiness. My son had returned to me, not in the way Id imagined, but in a way that mattered. It was enough.
