Why My Husband’s Only Son Refuses to Move His Mother In—And Why I Insist There’s Only Room for One Lady of the House (Me)

My son refuses to bring his mother to live with him, for in this household, there can only be one lady of the house, and that lady is me.

Thats not right! Shes his mother, after all! He should take her into his own home! Such opinions fall freely from the lips of my husbands relatives. I know my friends think the same, though none ever dares say it to my face. The reason, of course, is my situation with my mother-in-law.

Margaret is 83 now and well over fifteen stone, always unwell.
Why dont you invite Margaret to move in with you? my cousin enquired a few years back. Its good you help her daily, but what if something happens at night? Shes so alone. Your Edward is her only rock.

It seems inevitable, doesnt it? That the grandma would be looked after by her only son, his only wife, and only grandson. For the last five years, Margaret hasnt set foot outdoors. Her legs ache, her weight pins her down. Yet, it wasnt always thus. It started some thirty years ago, when she was spry, formidable, full of bustling energyquite commanding, too.

Who is this girl youve brought to me? Margaret, my future mother-in-law, demanded of Edward. For *her*, I gave you everything?

After hearing this, I simply drifted away to catch the bus. Back then, Edward’s mother lived in a distinguished suburban street, in a grand, handsome house. Her husband had held a respectable post, so Margaret had lived comfortably for years, even after he passed on. That day, Edward caught up with me and rode along. I was lucky in marriageEdward never obeyed his mother blindly, though he always treated elders with reverence. He tried to explain her sharp edges, told me, Its simply how she is. Dont let it bruise you.

Once married, we pinched pennies for our own home. Edward moved away for work that first year and didnt return for six months at a time. After some years we managed to buy a house and fit it out little by little. We didnt visit Margaret very often. Shed always been quick to spread storiesmostly about meto Edward and anyone else inclined to listen. You see, my daughter-in-law forbids her husband from helping his mother. Forbids! As if it were true.

She decided to exchange her house for a place in town. Yet the money she got fell short. She asked if wed top up the rest, promising the flat would eventually be left to our son, her only grandchild. But, standing with us at the solicitors, Margaret suddenly declared the property must be hers because, as a friend had warned her, grannies are so very often left destitute. Later, she threatened to sign her home over to whoever would care for her in old age. She wanted to be the lady of the house! She feared wed trick her, leave her with nothing.

Nearly two decades have slipped by since then. Everyone at the solicitors office heard her wailing, and we felt deeply uneasy. In the end, we relented. Margaret moved into her new flat almost at once and refused to let us so much as hang a shelf. She spent a month there, before beginning to complain that everything was old and crumbling, that nothing worked, and it was all, somehow, my faultId found her this wretched place to betray her.

Margaret doted on my cousins children but ignored her actual grandson, even feigned forgetfulness about his birthday. Several years ago, her health faltered, and she gained so much weight that movement became as difficult as breathing. I would bring over healthy, doctor-approved meals; Margaret would only curse and refuse to eat, insisting, only my cousin feeds me properlyshe just leaves me hungry.

Last year, my husband began asking me to let her move in with us. He had the notion his mother had seen sense at last, that shed accept the doctors guidelines now.

Fine I said at last. But here are my terms: the kitchen is my domain, I prepare all the food, I choose what we eat, and no visits from her cousin.

My mother-in-law was truly affronted, refused to comeshe thought shed reign in our home. But there can be only one rightful lady hereme! Yet still I trudged to her flat, cleaned, cooked, sometimes even slept over. Her beloved cousin limited her worries to anxious telephone calls.

Margaret would ring my cousin, moaning that I kept her starvingno pudding, no cured sausages. She would beg her cousin to come round with cake. The cousin always made excusestoo busythough she lived three times closer than me. Shed appear just once a month, bearing a bag of sweets, while I handled all the daily care.

One day, Margaret phoned her cousin in distress: her necklace and little gold cross had gone missing. She said wed both visited that day, but she was certain I had taken them.

Wordlessly, I set her meal upon the table and reached for the chain and cross, tangled behind the bedside cabinet. Back at home, I told Edward everything. I decided I was through with running after her. I suggested perhaps it was time for a care home. Edward agreed.