“I Told Mrs. Johnson I Was Exhausted and Could No Longer Be Her Errand Girl”: I Also Mentioned She Should Have Asked Her Daughter While She Was Still Here

A year ago, my neighbor Mrs. Johnson fell ill. It was a sudden and severe illness that left her bedridden and unable to take care of herself. Living alone in her small house, she had no one to rely on for daily tasks and errands. Her daughter, Emily, lived in the city with her husband and two young children. Emily had just given birth to her second child and was overwhelmed with her own responsibilities. Their small apartment was already cramped, leaving no space for an elderly mother.

At first, I was more than willing to help Mrs. Johnson. I would run to the grocery store for her, pick up her medications, and even help with some light cleaning around the house. I felt a sense of duty and compassion towards her; after all, she had always been a kind neighbor. But as weeks turned into months, the constant demands began to take a toll on me.

Mrs. Johnson would call me multiple times a day, asking for various favors. It started with simple requests like picking up milk or bread, but soon escalated to more time-consuming tasks like taking her to doctor’s appointments or staying with her for hours because she felt lonely. I have my own family and job to take care of, and balancing everything became increasingly difficult.

One particularly exhausting day, after running several errands for Mrs. Johnson and dealing with a stressful day at work, I reached my breaking point. She called me again, asking if I could come over and help her with some paperwork. I felt a surge of frustration and fatigue wash over me.

When I arrived at her house, I could see the relief in her eyes, but I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Mrs. Johnson,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “I’m exhausted. I can’t keep doing this. I’m not your errand girl.”

She looked taken aback, clearly not expecting such a response from me. “But who else do I have?” she asked, her voice trembling.

I took a deep breath and continued, “You should have asked Emily for help while she was still here. She’s your daughter; it’s her responsibility too.”

Mrs. Johnson’s face fell, and she looked away, tears welling up in her eyes. “Emily has her own family to take care of,” she whispered.

“I understand that,” I replied, “but I have my own family too. I can’t do this alone.”

The conversation ended there, but the tension between us lingered. I still helped Mrs. Johnson occasionally, but our relationship was never the same. The guilt of my outburst weighed heavily on me, but I knew I couldn’t continue sacrificing my well-being.

Months passed, and Mrs. Johnson’s condition worsened. Emily visited occasionally but never stayed long enough to provide substantial help. One day, I received a call from Emily informing me that Mrs. Johnson had passed away in her sleep.

I felt a mix of sadness and relief. Sadness for the loss of a neighbor who had once been so kind and relief that the constant demands were finally over. But the guilt remained, a constant reminder of the day I told Mrs. Johnson I could no longer be her errand girl.