I don't have much by way of extended family, being careless, like.
However I do have an elderly great aunt, of whom I am ridiculously fond. Think of her as the model for Aunt Dahlia of PG Wodehouse, but with a literary bent. She is 95 and still engages me with conversation about Thomas Hardy and DH Lawrence. She lives alone.
She had a fall last week and was admitted into hospital. Her only son texted me asking if I'd talked to her this week because he couldn't seem to get hold of her. He is currently walking the Inca Trail and out of contact most of the time.
So I find out, via the police, that she's been admitted into hospital, where she has spent the last week. They are not feeding her properly. She is utterly and completely bewildered and miserable and alone.
Her son's children, of which there are two, both grown men of 23 and 25 have not been to see her once. No cards, no flowers, no fruit, no company, nothing.
So I've been organising her getting out of this fucking awful hospital, and sorting out food and clothes and wheelchairs, and ramps and carers and stuff. I don't mind. She is lovely. It's not easy to cancel work for two days to do it all, especially as I am nearly 100 miles away. but needs must.
But I do mind that the grandchildren she adores (and for whom she has set up massive trust funds) have not been to see her ONCE.
I've phoned them and told them they are going. I got a lot of waffle about how they couldn't cancel this and that (this and that amounting to a festival and nothing in particular). I have told them they are going tomorrow. They gave in with bad grace.
But I am so very cross with them. Just venting really.