Words rained feelings of satisfaction from the clouds of internet talk; through Email message. The consensus agreed all had been achieved and the family mother was in a better place now, watched over in a nursing home.
A brother from the middle ranks of the rather large family busied himself with setting up and overseeing the transfer of mother during his Christmas holiday break. Most of the eight remaining family agreed that she was a danger to herself, with failing eyesight, whilst living alone in her modest one-bedroom unit.
All seemed well and good; right as rain, no worries mate.
Distance separated family members, though most still resided in Victoria, the home stomping ground, where the growing and nurturing of family bonds were disciplined into a hardened veneer of unity from early childhood, brother against brother or sister, teaching younger one’s principles of conduct, the family way, their way!
To All.
‘Well done team to those of us that were there today, we did well.’ An email stated triumphantly in the batch mailing to all. ‘For those who weren’t there, we sorted through items and selected good from junk, took heaps to the tip. Photo’s are sorted to pick up. Any items anyone was going to have will need to be collected by next Thursday. Mum is now in her new place.’
Reply from ——
‘Yeah good one. was a good days work and great get together with a few beers yeah after fish and chips nice for lunch too bad it’s the same ones all the time doin all the caring.’ Came a careless reply from a younger brother not delicate with words or writing.
Reply to All.
‘I was not aware it was a contest into whom cared most. I for one do not beat my chest about private visits to mother or phone conversations. Please be careful with comments on group emails, they may be insulting.’
A cry of retaliation came from across the sea.
Reply to All.
‘Why couldn’t you wait until I returned, I find this very disturbing and even hurtful. It needed to be Mum’s decision. I do not wish for my thoughts and comments to be seen by all, please remove me from this group email list.’
Other retorts dripping with sarcastic defence rained words of data.
The working party rallied behind their leader, the pact of unity behind the cause, bonding the group into an all familiar clique. Venom dribbled onto the screen of words as some members of the family, not versed with great writing technique, unleashed tirades of vent.
For some, bits of byte the electronic words displayed were mixed with blurry eyes of tears.
To All.
‘I have blocked you all from further communication with me. This is too distressing and upsetting for me.’
Another brother and his wife, who had taken the roles of carer and general upkeep for the previous eight years or so, now pushed aside. Their thunderous objections remained silent on the email screen.
Money and finances now became the going concern. Those pushed aside held this vital information. The questions of deciding who should take the roles of Power of Attorney for health and finance championed the field of byte, fanciful contenders vied for the roles.
Then came the thumping and pounding of keys from the silent email screen.
To All.
‘Mum appointed me as Power of Attorney for finances eight years ago, we have been undertaking this role since then, as well as overseeing her day to day well-being, I have been paying her bills as late as the other day. I will get proof.’
To All.
‘Thankyou for that, but I hardly think that piece of signed paper and the recording you got from Mum is legal. I will seek the services of a Lawyer in the next few days to organise something proper. We have confirmation of names of those most likely and capable of filling these roles for Mum. I think it wise not to communicate these delicate issues through email, I will advise those of us with our progress as they become known. Thank you.’
Quests of action echoed feelings of family life from the nurturing days. The family Pearls shone again; scorn, bullying, dominance, torment, tease, taunt and hurt. Right as rain the muddied water will bring to shine those Pearls again.
© Tropical Writers Inc 2025