My visit to Mum yesterday coincided with lunchtime at the home. It wasn’t ideal, I admit, but the faintest suggestion of sunshine had brought thousands on to the road. The staff at the home are very amenable and served Mum’s lunch in the quiet sitting room. So, it was my responsibility to cajole Mum into eating. The photo says it all. Arms resolutely crossed, if Mum had her way not a morsel would cross her lips.
Some morsels did:
“Look, Mum, yum yum yum.” The “yum yum yum” brought gales of laughter and worked for a while, a very short while. At about the third or fourth mouthful I offered, Mum screwed up her face:
“It’s alright for you,” came the response to my latest “yum”, “I don’t like it at all.”
Occasionally she would let me load a fork and hand it to her but more often than not, she then tipped the food off the fork and quietly put it down again.
51 or so years ago, the roles were reversed and knowing Mum, she would have shown extreme degrees of patience in persuading me to eat. Perhaps my patience isn’t as bountiful. Perhaps it’s the idea of feeding Mum at all. Perhaps, in her words, “I don’t like it at all.”
As I left, I glanced back. Mum had picked up a fork and was lifting it to her mouth.