best for REAL LIFE
When Nicky Barron-Robinson quit the classroom to spend more time with her widowed mum, she never imagined her life would turn full circle…
The doctor’s face was grim as he ushered me, my mum Bobbie, and sister Adel into his office. It was July 2015 and my dad, James, had undergone surgery to repair a heart valve. We’d all been looking forward to Dad emerging with a whole new lease of life, especially as he was only 66.
‘He didn’t make it,’ the doctor said. There were no words to describe the shock we felt. ‘How?’ we all sobbed.
Mum and Dad were childhood sweethearts. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being alone. It was unthinkable. But before I knew it, the funeral had been and gone and I had to return to work.
A primary school teacher for 18 years, I’d always loved watching my class of seven-year-olds learn and grow, but the job sucked up every second of my life. My in-tray was never empty, and the pressure kept on building.
Working 70-hour weeks meant only being able to spare 10 minutes with Mum on my dash to work. Then, in the evenings, I’d hurry home to make dinner, before flipping open my laptop to plan the next day’s lessons. It was exhausting.
Thankfully Adel, now 45, was there to keep Mum company until, a few years later, she broke the news that she was expecting a baby.
‘That’s wonderful!’ I cheered, hugging her tight. Adel would soon have her hands full, and I realised it was my turn to step up for Mum.
Besides, I was pushing 50 and ready for change. So, taking a deep breath, I handed in my notice.
As all the kids stood up in assembly on my last day to sing me a goodbye song which they’d written, I bawled my eyes out. But when I walked through those school gates for the final time, I felt a huge weight had lifted.
After that, instead of marking schoolwork on a Sunday afternoon, Mum would come over to my home in Plymouth and she’d bring her crafting to keep her occupied.
‘These are wonderful,’ I’d gush, seeing the set of wool felt wreaths she’d sewn. I’d always been interested in crafting and had taught a bit of art at school. But I’d never had time for any hobbies…
‘Let’s make something together,’ Mum suggested. After that, we’d spend hours making felt items such as table runners and bunting. We talked about the things that Dad, a woodturner, made. I hoped, in some small way, it eased her loneliness and grief too.
Soon, our handiwork was taking over the house, so my husband, Da
