Every religion, every culture and every moral upbringing teaches us the importance of honouring one’s parents, particularly as they grow older and more vulnerable. This is not a lesson reserved for sermons or religious classes alone, but one that was once lived out daily in our homes and communities. Sadly, in today’s fast paced world, this sacred responsibility seems to be fading. We hear more and more stories of elderly parents being
emotionally neglected, quietly pushed aside, or treated as burdens by the very children they raised with love and sacrifice. What is even more heartbreaking is that these stories are no longer rare or shocking. They are becoming common, disturbingly so. I never imagined that I would one day feel compelled to speak out or write about such an issue, especially one that unfolded right next door to my own home. But what I witnessed over the past year has weighed heavily on my heart and conscience and I feel that remaining silent would make me just as guilty.
I am a 30 year old single female living with my parents, both in their early sixties, in one of the security estates in Centurion. My parents are still very active and independent, but age has begun to slow them down in small, subtle ways. My father no longer drives long distances and my mother tires more easily than she once did. Watching these changes has made me acutely aware of how fragile life is and how quickly roles reverse as parents grow
older. Our neighbourhood is one of those areas where many of the residents who are formally from LLL, know each other by name. We greet one another, exchange food during special occasions and keep an eye on each other’s homes, when one of the families are away on holiday. While everyone is busy with their own lives, there is still a sense of shared humanity and responsibility that binds us together.
Living next door to us is a couple in their mid forties with two teenagers, originally from LLL, SSS and his wife ZZZ. They moved in a few years ago and from the outside they appeared to be a respectable and well settled family. SSS runs a few businesses, which actually belonged to and were started by his father and ZZZ is a housewife. They dress well, speak well and are very particular about appearances. They are also known to be religious and socially active, often attending the many social gatherings and events within our community. About a year ago, SSS’s father who lived in LLL, passed away after a brief illness. It was a difficult time for the family and many of us as friends assisted with the catering part during the first 3 days after the funeral, as people kept on coming to pay their respects at his late father’s home. That is when I got to know SSS’s widowed mother, aunty FFF, a 70 year old woman and a truly remarkable person. About four months after the funeral aunty FFF came to live with SSS and ZZZ.
SSS had sold her home as he was the only son and since his only sibling, his sister was married and lived in another province, it seemed natural that the responsibility to take care of his mother fell on him, as he had also taken over his father’s businesses. At the time, we all felt relieved knowing that she would not be alone, especially living in the crime riddled LLL and after losing her husband of many decades. Losing a spouse at that age is an unimaginable pain and we assumed that being surrounded by family would help ease her grief. Aunty FFF is a gentle and dignified woman. For her age, she is surprisingly independent. She is healthy, fully mobile and mentally alert. She manages her personal needs without assistance and takes pride in doing things for herself. She enjoys reading, cooking and sitting outside in the late afternoons, always greeting her neighbours with a warm smile. She has never interfered or demanded attention as far as we know, and she seems content with very little.
In the early days after she moved in, things appeared normal but as time passed, subtle signs began to emerge that all was not well. ZZZ’s treatment of her mother-in-law was never openly abusive but it was cold and distant. There were no raised voices or dramatic confrontations, just a constant sense of emotional neglect. Aunty FFF was rarely included in family outings. When SSS and ZZZ left the house with their children, she was often left behind. Meals were seldom shared and it was clear that she mostly fended for herself. I later learnt with much shock that Aunty FFF actually lived in the guest apartment, which athough was part of the house, was at the corner side of the house, having its own little kitchen.
Many evening I noticed Aunty FFF sitting alone on the side front porch while the rest of the household went about their lives indoors. There was a quiet loneliness about her that was difficult to ignore. My mother, who has always been sensitive to such matters, would often send over savouries for her and the family as to make it obvious, that we knew something was amiss. My mum would also invite her often for tea. Aunty FFF would accept with gratitude, but she never complained or spoke badly about her son or daughter-in-law. Instead, she always made excuses for them, saying they were busy or tired. However, behind her gentle words, there was a sadness that could not be hidden. As months passed, it became clear that Aunty FFF’s presence in her son’s home was tolerated rather than welcomed. She tried hard not to impose, keeping to herself and avoiding any situation that might cause discomfort. It was painful to watch someone who had raised her children with love now shrinking herself to avoid being a nuisance. The incident that truly shook me and compelled me to speak out occurred this past December. SSS and ZZZ had planned to go for Umrah (pilgrimage) during the holiday season. It was spoken about openly, and preparations were underway weeks in advance. Naturally, we assumed that Aunty FFF would be accompanying them. After all, what greater blessing than taking one’s elderly mother along on such a sacred journey? But she did not go. A few days before their departure, my mother happened to speak to Aunty FFF and asked her about the trip. It was then that she quietly mentioned that her son and daughter-in-law would be going alone with their kids and that she would be staying behind. There was no bitterness in her voice, just acceptance. She explained that ZZZ had told her that it would be too difficult to take her along because she would not manage the trip and that she would be more comfortable at home. The maid, who normally assisted in the house, had gone on leave for the December Christmas period. Despite this, Aunty FFF insisted that she would manage just fine. She did not want to trouble anyone and kept repeating that she was still strong and capable.
A few days after SSS and ZZZ left, tragedy struck. Late one afternoon, Aunty FFF slipped while in the kitchen and fell badly. She cried out in pain and by sheer chance, I happened to be outside and heard her calls for help. We rushed to her side and immediately took her to the casualty dept at Unitas Hospital. Doctors confirmed that she had fractured her ankle and placed it in a cast. When we informed her son and daughter-in-law of what had happened, their response was deeply upsetting. There was no urgency or visible concern. SSS simply said that he hoped his mum was comfortable and that they would see what they could do once they returned. ZZZ did not even come to the phone. From that moment on, my parents and I stepped in to care for Aunty FFF and brought her into our home. We cooked her meals, helped her move around, ensured she took her medication and took her for her follow up appointments. Despite being in pain, she remained polite and apologetic, constantly saying that she did not want to inconvenience anyone. What broke my heart the most was how she continued to praise her son. She insisted that he loved her dearly and that he would never intentionally neglect her. It was clear that she could not bring herself to accept the truth. After SSS and ZZZ returned from their Umrah trip, life next door appeared to carry on as usual. From the outside, there were smiles, greetings and the usual polite exchanges.
ZZZ spoke often about the trip to anyone who would listen, describing the beauty of the holy places and how spiritually uplifting the journey had been. There were gifts distributed and stories told with great enthusiasm. To an outsider, it would have seemed like a family that had returned refreshed and blessed. But behind closed doors, the atmosphere told a different story.
A few days after their return, our domestic helper mentioned something to my mother that made my heart sink. She told us that while chatting to the domestic helper next door, she had learnt that ZZZ had been complaining bitterly during and after the trip. According to her, ZZZ was furious that her mother-in-law had fallen and fractured her ankle while they were away. Not out of concern or guilt, but because she felt that her mother-in-law had ‘spoiled everything’. ZZZ was heard by their maid while talking to her sister on the phone telling her that Aunty FFF had deliberately ruined their Umrah trip by falling at that time, accusing her of always needing attention and creating problems. She complained that instead of enjoying peace and worship, she had to take phone calls and deal with messages about hospital visits. She even went as far as saying that Aunty FFF had done it ‘on purpose’, as though an elderly woman would willingly injure herself just to inconvenience her children. What was even more disturbing was what followed.
The maid said that ZZZ had several heated and loud arguments with her husband after they returned. In those arguments, she repeatedly referred to his mother as ‘a burden’ and said that her presence was ruining their lives. She complained that everything had changed since her mother-in-law came to live with them — their freedom, their travel plans, even their peace at home. She accused SSS of putting his mother before his wife and children and made it clear that she did not want to spend the rest of her life ‘looking after an old woman’. According to the maid, SSS mostly remained quiet during these arguments, only pleading with his wife to tone down her voice as he did not want his mother to hear any of her complaints. His silence, more than the words spoken, felt like a betrayal. Hearing all this from our domestic helper was deeply upsetting. What made it worse was knowing that his mum most probably heard ZZZ complaining about her, but continued to speak fondly of her son and praised her daughter-in-law whenever we spoke to her.
She often said how grateful she was that they had taken her in and how she prayed for their happiness daily. I could not help but think of the painful contrast — a mother making excuses for her children while being labelled a burden behind her back. A woman who had lost her husband, her home and her independence, now reduced to a source of irritation in her son’s household.
Watching this unfold next door has left a lasting mark on my heart. It has made me look at my own parents with renewed awareness and gratitude. It has also made me fear a future where ageing parents are increasingly seen as problems to manage rather than our elders to cherish. It reminded me that neglect is not always loud or visible. Sometimes it exists quietly, in resentment and unkind thoughts and hidden behind polite smiles and religious appearances. This entire experience has left me deeply disturbed. How have we reached a point where elderly parents are treated as inconveniences and how can people perform acts of worship while neglecting the very individuals our faith commands us to honour? Our religion teaches us that caring for our parents is not a burden but a blessing. Yet more and more, we see children placing their comfort, above compassion. Ironically in many cases the acquired luxury, is through inheritance from parents. What many fail to realise is that the way they treat their parents today is the lesson their own children are learning. One day, those children will repeat the same behaviour.
As neighbours, we will continue to look out for Aunty FFF as best as we can, but kindness from outsiders should never replace the love and care owed by one’s own children. I pray that this tragic incident that I have outlined serves as a reminder to those blessed with living parents to honour them while you still can. Care for them not because it is expected, but because it is the right thing to do. In fact it should be looked at as a privilege to take care of one’s parents in their old age. Remember paradise is not found only in rituals and pilgrimages, but in
the quiet, everyday acts of kindness shown to those who once gave us everything. I pray that those who recognise themselves in this story take a moment to reflect, before it is too late, and before regret becomes their only companion. I just hope that you forgive me for writing about you, although anonymously, but I just could not keep it in me anymore, as I see your mum in deep pain which she is so desperately trying to hide.
– Upset Neighbour