**Diary Entry 18th October**
“Put her in a care home,” my daughter whispered in the hallway.
“Emily, whats taking so long? Dinners getting cold!” came Geralds annoyed voice from the kitchen.
Emily straightened her mothers pillow, tucked the blanket tighter around her, and only then answered, “Coming, coming! Just gave Mum her water so she could take her pills.”
“Same thing every day,” Gerald muttered when she finally sat at the table. “Pills, doctor visits, changing padsas if theres nothing else to do.”
Emily ate her soup in silence. What was there to say? It *was* the same, day after day. A year and a half now since Mum came to live with us after her stroke. Back then, wed thought it temporaryjust until she got back on her feet. But time passed, and Margaret only grew weaker.
“Listen,” Gerald ventured carefully, “have you thought about a care home? Theyve got round-the-clock care, doctors on hand…”
“Stop it!” Emily cut in sharply. “How can you even suggest that? Shes my *mother*.”
Gerald sighed and dropped it. Emily finished her soup, knowing, deep down, he wasnt wrong. She was exhausted. Teaching took all her energy, and now there was Mumwho couldnt be left alone for a minute.
After lunch, when Gerald left for the allotment, Emily sat by her mothers bed. Margaret lay with closed eyes but steady breathing. Emily took her handthin, cool.
“Mum, how are you feeling? Fancy some tea?”
The old woman opened her eyes slowly, fixing Emily with a long look.
“Emmy… I know Im a burden.”
“Mum, dont say that!”
“Dont pretend, love. I see how tired you are. And Geraldhes a good man, patient, but its hard on him too. Youre still young. You ought to be *living*, not looking after an old woman.”
Emily felt the lump rise in her throat. Mum had always been sharpillness hadnt dulled that.
“Well manage, Mum.”
Margaret gave her hand a feeble squeeze.
“Remember when you had scarlet fever as a girl? Forty-degree fever, delirious. I didnt leave your side for three weeks. Your dad said, Send her to hospital, but I wouldnt. Thought youd only get better at home, with me.”
“I remember.”
“And when you went off to uniI worried then too. Shell forget me, I thought. But you came home every weekend, brought treats…”
Emily stayed quiet. The memories ached. Mum had always been her rockworking two jobs to put her through school, skimping on herself so Emily wanted for nothing.
“Mum, lets not dwell. You should rest.”
“No, Emmy, listen. Ive had time to think these past months. Real love isnt about holding on. Sometimes, its knowing when to let go.”
Just then, little Sophie from next door peeked in.
“Auntie Em, can I see Granny Margaret? I picked her some flowers.”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
Sophie bounded to the bed, thrusting out a clutch of golden marigolds.
“These are for you! Like tiny suns!”
Margaret lifted herself with effort, taking the flowers.
“Thank you, love. Youre a clever girl. Hows school?”
“Good! I know all my letters now. And yesterday, Mum gave me money, and I bought bread and milk *all by myself*!”
“Well done! Growing up so independent.”
After Sophie skipped off, Emily stayed, turning the marigolds in her hands.
“Bright little thing,” Margaret murmured. “Her parents arent afraid to let her go. Thats why shes confident.”
“Whatre you getting at, Mum?”
“That too much coddling does harm. Remember Mrs. Clarke down the road? Sheltered her boy so much he couldnt boil an egg at forty.”
Emily smiled despite herself. Poor Victor *had* been hopelessonly learned to fend for himself after his mum passed.
That evening, Gerald was at the kitchen table, studying a brochure.
“Whats that?”
“Just… information. About a care home. In case.” He tucked it away. “Em, dont be cross. I spoke to Dave todayhis mums in one. Said the cares proper…”
“Gerry, *stop*.”
“Hear me out!” He raised his voice. “Im not heartless. I care about Margaret too. But look at yourunning on fumes. Works noticing youre distracted. When did you last sleep through? Or talk to me like we used to?”
Emily leaned against the counter. Outside, the leaves were turning. Mum loved autumncalled it the prettiest season. This year, shed hardly seen it.
“Im scared shell be miserable there, Emily admitted. Her whole lifes been in her own home, her own things. There, its all strangers.”
Gerald hugged her shoulders.
“Dont you think it hurts *her*, watching you struggle? Women understand these things. Maybe she *wants* you to put yourself first?”
—-
**Next Morning**
Margaret turned to the wall when Emily visited.
“Tea, Mum?”
“Dont want any.”
“Telly, then?”
“Dont want anything. Just lying here, useless.”
Emily sat on the bed. “Whats wrong? You were fine yesterday.”
Margaret rolled over slowly.
“I heard you and Gerald. About the care home.”
Emily flushed. “It was just talk”
“Im not deaf. Or daft. Ive run you ragged. Hes rightsomethings got to give.”
Emilys eyes stung.
“Well manage.”
“Manage? Be *happy*, you mean. Im seventy-eight, love. My times been. Yours is ahead. I wont have you waste it on me.”
“Dont say that!”
“Its truth. You should be traveling with Gerald, spoiling grandkids. Instead, youre changing my pads.”
Emily broke. Margaret passed her a handkerchief.
“Dont cry. Youre a good girl. But real love means letting go.”
“Let go? Youre my *mum*!”
“Exactly. Look into that home. Might be better for mepeople my age to talk to. Here, I just stare at walls.”
—-
They visited the next week. The home was modern, set in gardens. The manager showed them roundclean rooms, each with a view.
“Residents make friends here,” she said. “Library, games, walks in the grounds. Doctor visits daily.”
In the dining room, old folks chatted over meals. They looked… content.
“How often do families visit?” Emily asked.
“Varies. Some weekly, some monthly. The trick is not to forget.”
On the drive back, Margaret was quiet. Then:
“Its nice there. Decent people.”
That night, Emily cried in the hall. Gerald held her.
“Its the right thing. For everyone.”
—-
Margaret moved in a week later. Emily helped her settlephotos, her favourite mug, the woolly throw.
“Youll be all right, Mum?”
“Course. Now you look after yourself. And that good husband.”
Driving away, Emily saw her at the window, waving. Frail, grey, but somehow… lighter.
—-
**Months Later**
Emily visited every Sunday. Mum had blossomedmade friends, joined a reading group, even helped a neighbour with letters.
“Feel useful here,” she admitted. “Not a burden.”
At home, life changed too. Emily slept. Work improved. She and Gerald went to the theatre, even took a seaside holiday.
One visit, she bumped into Mrs. Harris from their street.
“Emily! Had no idea your mum was here. Were thick as thievesshe cheers everyone up!”
On the drive home, Emily smiled. Mum had been right.
Real love wasnt chains. It was setting someone freeto be happy.
Autumn glowed gold, and for the first time in years, Emily saw its beauty.
**Lesson:** Love doesnt always mean holding tight. Sometimes, its the courage to loosen your grip.
