A lifetime of CARING

If looking after her loved ones has taught Penny Wincer anything, it’s that you’ve got to have some resilience

- FIONA KINLOCH

Unpacking the boxes as we moved into our new farmhouse, I glanced over at my mum, Christine, then 40, and knew immediately something was amiss. As she struggled to catch her breath and went to lie down in the back seat of the car, at just 11 years old I had no idea what to do. Suspecting she was having a heart attack, Dad and I scrambled into the car and drove her to hospital. And though I was relieved to learn Mum had in fact suffered a panic attack, before being given the all-clear, that day in 1989 marked the beginning of her downward spiral.

My early years as a child had been filled with happiness and contentment. We lived in an idyllic house in the suburbs close to my friends and we’d take turns frequenting each other’s homes. My dad, then 45, was a film director, which meant he travelled excessively, yet despite the challenges that came with solo parenting, my happy-golucky mum thrived and provided me and my two brothers with a stable and loving home.

But it was when we moved to the farm in a remote and isolated setting in 1989, I saw a real change in Mum. After that day, she continued to have regular panic attacks and, in time, her anxiety morphed into depression. By the time I was 13, my parents split and Dad moved to America while we moved back to the suburbs. And though I was hopeful things would improve, Mum continued to deteriorate and lost all sense of purpose. She periodically became an inpatient at a private psychiatric clinic, and with my dad in America, and my brothers at boarding school, she would leave me in the care of friends.

At home she’d lock herself in her bedroom for weeks on end, so it was up to me and the carer she’d hired to step up and help fill the void she’d left. Shopping for groceries, cooking dinner and doing the laundry all became part of my daily routine.