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Don’t Go, Mum: A Family Story of Love, Judgement, and Redemption
Dont Go, Mum. A Family Story
As the old saying goes: you cant judge a book by its cover.
But Margaret Thompson firmly believes thats nonsenseshe prides herself on reading people like an open book!
A year ago, her daughter, Grace, got married.
Margaret had always dreamed that Grace would find a good, reliable English lad, theyd have children, and shed become the matriarch of a big, happy family, just as shed always wanted.
James, her son-in-law, isnt daft, and hes certainly not hard up either. In fact, he seems quite chuffed with himself. The newlyweds moved into James flat, and clearly, they have no time for her advice!
Margaret is convinced that James is a terrible influence on Grace!
None of this fits in with Margarets plans. She finds herself constantly on edge whenever James is mentioned.
Mum, you just dont get it, James grew up in care. Hes built everything by himself, hes strong and incredibly kind, Grace says, her voice brimming with frustration.
Margaret only purses her lips and hunts for new flaws in James.
Now he seems nothing like the man he presented himself to be when he was wooing her daughter! As her duty as a mother, she feels compelled to open Graces eyes to this empty suit before its too late!
No degree, stubborn as a mule, and not interested in anything!
He just loafs in front of the telly on weekends, says hes tired from work!
Is this really the sort of man her daughter wants to spend her life with? Absolutely notone day Grace will thank her.
And when children arrive, her grandchildren, what on earth will a father like him teach them?
Margaret is deeply disappointed. Unsurprisingly, James, picking up on her frosty attitude, begins to avoid speaking to her.
They see each other less and less, and Margaret has point-blank refused to set foot in their home now.
Graces father, ever the peacekeeper and knowing his wife all too well, chooses to keep out of it.
But then, one evening, Grace rings Margaret, her voice on edge:
Mum, I never mentioned it, but Ive had to nip away on a two-day work trip. And Jameshe caught a chill at the building site, came home early from work feeling ill. I tried to call, but hes not answering his phone.
Grace, why are you telling me all this? Margaret snaps, You lot live your own lives, don’t seem to care about us! No one checks on how I feel, does that bother anyone? And now you call me in the dead of night just to say James is ill? Have you lost your senses?
Mum, please Graces voice trembles, shes clearly worried, I just wish you could understand we love each other. You think James is no good, but he really isnt like that! How could you ever think that I, your daughter, could fall for someone bad? Dont you trust me?
Margaret falls silent.
Mum, Im begging youremember, you still have the spare key to our flat. Could you please check on him? I think somethings really wrong with James! Please, Mum!
Finejust for you, Margaret mutters, getting her husband up.
They let themselves in with the key since no one answers the door. The flat is dark and stillperhaps no ones home?
Maybe hes not here after all? her husband suggests, but Margaret silences him with a stern glare, her daughters worry seeping into her bones.
She steps into the loungeand freezes in horror. James is sprawled on the sofa in an odd position, his skin burning with fever!
The paramedic rouses the young man and offers reassurance:
Dont worry, hes got complications from his cold. Hes been working too hard, hasnt he? he says kindly, looking at Margaret.
Thats right, he does work a lot, she admits.
Hell be fine, just watch his temperature and ring us if anything changes.
James drifts into sleep, and Margaret finds herself sitting in the armchair next to himby the bedside of the son-in-law she never wanted.
He looks so young and vulnerable, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his face far softer than shes ever seen.
Mum, James murmurs in his sleep, grasping her hand. Dont go, Mum.
Margaret is so startled that she cant bring herself to pull her hand away.
She sits by his side all night.
At first light, Grace phones again:
Mum, thank you so much. Ill be home soon, you dont need to stayhell be all right, Im sure of it.
He already is, love, Margaret replies with a gentle smile, were waiting for you, everythings fine.
*****
When her first grandson is born, Margaret is quick to offer her help.
James, grateful, kisses her hand: See, Grace, you said your mum wouldnt want to help us!
And Margaret, proudly cradling little Thomas, walks around the flat talking quietly to the baby:
Well, Thomas, youre a lucky lad the best parents and a loving gran and granddad! You really are a fortunate little fellow!
So perhaps that old saying rings true after allyou cant judge a book by its cover.
And love is the only thing that truly helps you understand a person.
A Sold Friend: Grandad’s Tale And He Understood Me! It Was No Fun – I Realized What a Foolish Idea It Was. I Sold Him. He Thought It Was a Game, Until He Realized I’d Truly Sold Him. Times, After All, Are Different for Everyone. For Some, All-Inclusive Isn’t All That Generous, While Others Just Dream of Fresh Bread and Sausage. That’s how we lived – each in our own way, with all sorts of ups and downs. I was little back then. My uncle – Uncle George – gave me a shepherd puppy, and I was over the moon. The pup bonded with me, understood me at a glance, looked into my eyes and waited, waited for my signal. “Lie down,” I would say after a pause, and he would lie, gazing up at me loyally as though ready to die for me. “Serve,” I commanded, and the puppy would clamber up on chubby legs and freeze, swallowing anxiously, waiting for a reward – a tasty treat. But I had nothing to spoil him with. We were barely managing ourselves. Times were tough. My uncle, Uncle George, my mum’s brother who had given me the puppy, once said to me: “Don’t be upset, lad. Look how loyal he is! Sell him, then call for him, and he’ll run back to you. No one will see. You’ll have some money for a treat for you and your mum, and for him too. Trust me, I’m telling you something useful.” The idea sounded good to me. I didn’t realize then how wrong it was – an adult suggested it, and besides, it’d just be a joke, and I could get a treat. I whispered into Loyal’s warm, furry ear that I’d give him away, then call him back, so he should come to me and escape from strangers. And he understood me! He barked, as if to agree. The next day, I put on his lead and walked him to the station. Everyone sold things there – flowers, cucumbers, apples. The crowd poured off the train, and people began buying, haggling. I stepped forward a little, pulling my dog closer. But no one approached. Almost everyone had gone when a man with a stern face came over. “You there, lad, waiting for someone, or maybe you want to sell your dog? Good, strong pup – I’ll take him,” and he pressed some money into my palm. I handed him the lead. Loyal looked around and sneezed happily. “Go on, Loyal, go with him, my friend,” I whispered, “I’ll call you, come to me.” And he went off with the man. Hiding, I watched where they went. That evening, I brought home bread, sausage, and sweets. Mum asked sternly: “Did you steal this from someone?” “No, Mum, I helped carry some things at the station, and they paid me.” “Well done, son. Now eat and let’s go to bed – I’m exhausted.” She didn’t even ask about Loyal; she didn’t care. Uncle George came by in the morning. I was getting ready for school, but all I wanted was to go call for Loyal. “So,” he chuckled, “sold your friend?” and ruffled my hair. I pulled away, refusing to answer. I hadn’t slept all night, and couldn’t eat my bread and sausage for the lump in my throat. It wasn’t fun – I realized what a stupid idea it had been. No wonder Mum never liked Uncle George. “He’s daft, don’t listen to him,” she’d always say. I grabbed my schoolbag and dashed from the house. It was three blocks to that man’s house, and I ran the whole way. Loyal sat behind a tall fence, tied up with a thick rope. I called him, but he looked at me sadly, head on his paws, tail wagging, trying to bark though his voice broke. I’d sold him. He thought it was a game, but then realized I had truly sold him. The owner came out, scolded Loyal, and he tucked in his tail. I knew then it was hopeless. That evening I worked at the station carrying bags. They paid little, but it was enough. Scared, I went to the gate and knocked. The man opened the door. “Oh, it’s you again. What do you want?” “Sir, I changed my mind,” I stammered, handing him the money he’d given me for Loyal. He squinted at me, took the money, and untied Loyal. “Here, lad. Take him. He’s been pining, not cut out for a guard dog – but mind, he may never forgive you.” Loyal looked at me mournfully. Our game had become a trial for us both. Then he walked over, licked my hand and pressed his nose into my stomach. Years have passed since then, but I know now: you never sell a friend, not even as a joke. And Mum was so glad: “I was exhausted yesterday, then remembered – where’s our dog? I’m used to that boy, he’s part of the family, our Loyal!” After that, Uncle George hardly ever visited. We didn’t find his jokes funny anymore.
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