2939. Ingratitude
© Bruce Goodman 19 December 2023


When Joyce turned eighty-four it was suggested that since she lived alone it might be wise to move in with her son and daughter-in-law. Their children had left home and there was a spare room for grandma. Joyce thought the suggestion had some merit.

It was sad for Joyce to witness the used furniture truck take away her now unwanted furniture. Each item had memories. For example, she had given the cuckoo clock to her late husband for his sixtieth birthday. Hearing the cuckoo on the hour had become part of Joyce’s daily routine. “We can’t have the cuckoo echoing incessantly through the house,” declared Joyce’s daughter-in-law. “It would drive us cuckoo.” Joyce agreed that some sacrifices had to be made.

After moving, Joyce lay awake all night. She wanted to go to the bathroom but didn’t want to disturb her son and daughter-in law. They were late risers. Joyce like to rise early and prepare an early breakfast. She had been told to stay out of the kitchen; you’re retired now. Her favourite television programs were not watched in the house. It was all sports. Even the great grandchildren who visited were loud and tiring.

Joyce grew drained. She planned an escape. A Retirement Home had a spare room for rent. It had a bathroom and a television. Joyce moved in without telling a soul. When her son and daughter-in-law discovered her imprudent action, Joyce overheard her daughter-in-law sum things up: “What a relief it is to have that demanding geriatric out of the house. She sold her car and expected me to drive her everywhere – like to the Medical Centre. She was forever getting in the way. I’m sure Ingratitude must be her middle name.”

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