З життя
«Я не дозволю, щоб моя мама опинилася в будинку для літніх людей!» — тітка з показним завзяттям забрала хвору бабусю до себе, а через три місяці ми дізналися, що вона відправила її до притулку для стареньких
«Я не дозволю своїй матері опинитися в будинку для літніх людей!» — з покровительською рішучістю сказала тітка, забираючи хвору бабусю до себе, а через три місяці ми дізналися, що вона віддала її до притулку для людей похилого віку.
Я ніколи не забуду той день, коли моя тітка Оксана, сестра моєї мами, з великим пафосом забрала до себе нашу хвору бабусю Олену. Це було справжнє шоу, сповнене гучних заяв, звинувачень і гірких сліз. Скільки ж образливих фраз тоді пролунало від неї! Вона кричала так голосно, що здавалося, її голос лунав по всьому селищу, наче вона хотіла, щоб кожен сусід у нашому маленькому містечку під Києвом знав, яка вона «праведниця», а які ми «байдужі».
— Я не дозволю, щоб моя мати гнила у будинку для старих! У мене є совість, не те що у вас! — кричала вона в обличчя мамі з такою люттю, що в мене досі мурашки по шкірі від тих спогадів.
Її слова звучали, наче цитати з книжки про сімейні цінності, але за ними ховалася лише злість і осуд. Вона виставляла себе героїнею, а нас — мало не зрадниками. Але проблема полягала не у совісті, а в тому, що бабуся насправді потребувала серйозної допомоги, яку ми вже не могли їй надати.
Все почалося після того, як у бабусі стався інсульт. Її здоров’я розсипалося, як картковий будиночок: пам’ять підводила, вона могла загубитися у власній кімнаті, часто плакала без причини, а її поведінка стала загадкою. Іноді з цим можна було впоратися, але такі моменти ставали все частішими й небезпечнішими. Одного разу ми повернулися додому і побачили картину, від якої кров застигла в жилах: всі лампи в будинку світилися, з кранів текла вода, а на газовій плиті був увімкнений вогонь. Бабуся сиділа в кутку і щось бурмотіла, не розуміючи, що ледве не спричинила пожежу. Дякувати Богу, ми встигли вчасно, інакше трагедії не уникнути.
Після чергового відвідування лікаря нам сказали страшну правду: стан бабусі буде тільки погіршуватися. Ліки могли трохи сповільнити цей кошмар, але сподіватися на диво не варто було. Ми зрозуміли, що вона більше не може доглядати за собою, а ми не в змозі бути поруч 24 години на добу. Робота, діти, побут — все це не відпускало нас, і серце рвалося від безсилля.
Після тривалих суперечок і сліз ми вирішили знайти гарний будинок для людей похилого віку, де про бабусю подбають професіонали, де їй буде затишно і безпечно. Ми не збиралися її залишати — ми хотіли дати їй найкраще, що могли знайти в цій ситуації. Але коли про це дізналася тітка Оксана, яка жила у сусідньому Львові, вона примчала до нас, мов фурія, готова знищити все на своєму шляху.
— Як ви можете думати про те, щоб здати рідну матір у притулок? У неї є діти, а ви хочете від неї позбутися, як від старих меблів! — кричала вона, іскрячись очима.
Її слова різали, як ножі. А потім, не слухаючи наших пояснень, просто забрала бабусю до себе, грюкнувши дверима так, що стекла затремтіли. Ми залишилися у тиші, оглушені її гнівом та власною розгубленістю.
Минуло три місяці. Три довгих місяці, сповнених тривоги за бабусю. І раптом до нас дійшла новина, яка перевернула все з ніг на голову: тітка Оксана здала бабусю до притулку для літніх людей. Так, та сама жінка, яка клялася своєю совістю і звинувачувала нас у бездушності, сама не впоралася. Виявилося, що догляд за хворою старенькою — це не гучні слова, а важка праця, до якої вона не була готова.
Іронія долі обпекла мене, як розпечене залізо. Хотілося набрати її номер і закричати в слухавку: «Де ж тепер твоя хвалена совість, тітко Оксано? Де твої обіцянки?» Але вона не брала телефон. Вочевидь, до неї дійшло, що вона перегнула палицю, що її гордість зіграла злий жарт. Тільки вибачитися чи визнати свою помилку їй не вистачило духу. Ми залишилися з гіркотою лицемірства, а бабуся — у чужих стінах, далеко від нас усіх.
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Tanya looked like a model—men couldn’t help but stare. But for all those years, they never had a child. I figured Denis wanted everything by the book—get married, then have kids. Denis is private, and we never pried. Finally, Denis told us: ‘Mum, Dad, I’m marrying Tanya. We’ve booked the registry office. I’m throwing a huge wedding—no expense spared.’ He was thirty. We were thrilled that he’d finally settle down. But, Polly, the wedding date had to be postponed twice—once Denis got sick, then I was held up at work. It felt odd, but Denis was glowing with happiness—I didn’t say anything. Denis even wanted to have a church wedding with Father Christopher, but the priest was called back to his home parish. Nothing was going smoothly. It seemed like the world was warning us… The wedding was spectacular, noisy, extravagant. Here—look at the wedding photo. You see that orchid? Glorious, in full bloom. Its leaves stood tall like soldiers. And now? Just limp rags remain of it. …Denis and Tanya planned their honeymoon in Paris, but right at the airport, Tanya was barred from leaving the country—something about an unpaid fine. Denis swatted away these troubles like flies. …But then Denis got seriously ill. Ended up in hospital, things looked grim. Doctors were at a loss. Tanya visited for a week, then bluntly told him: ‘Sorry, but I can’t handle being married to an invalid. I’m filing for divorce.’ Polly, imagine my son—bedridden—hearing that. But he only said: ‘I understand, Tanya. I won’t fight you.’ So they divorced. But Denis got better—thanks to a wonderful doctor named Peter. And Peter had a lovely 20-year-old daughter, Mary. At first, Denis turned up his nose: ‘She’s just a slip of a girl—not even pretty.’ ‘Give her a chance, son. Looks aren’t everything. You’ve already had a model for a wife…Better to be happy drinking water together than sipping honey in sorrow.’ …Time passed. Mary totally fell for Denis—called all the time, trailed after him everywhere. So we tried nudging them together—day at the park, barbecue, campfire. Denis looked miserable, barely noticing Mary’s devotion. I told my husband: ‘It’s hopeless. Denis is still obsessed with Tanya. She’s a thorn in his heart.’ …Three or four months later—ding dong! It’s Denis, holding that infamous orchid. ‘Here you go, Mum—remnants of past happiness. Do as you like with it—I’m done with it.’ I took it reluctantly and basically ignored it, blaming the poor flower for my son’s heartbreak. One day, a neighbour says: ‘Kate, I saw Denis with that petite girl. His ex-wife was more glamorous, for sure.’ But then Denis announced, hand-in-hand with Mary: ‘Meet my wife—Mary. We got married quietly at the registry office, then Father Christopher married us in church. Mum, Dad, no big fuss this time! It’s forever now.’ I pulled him aside: ‘Denis, are you sure you love her? 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