Kinship carers need financial support. Instead, we’re just left to get on with it

Rebekah is a kinship carer to her two grandchildren – ages 13 and eight. 

Five years ago, my eight-year-old grandson ran down the stairs yelling for me to come up to the bathroom. His mother, my daughter Francesca, 31, had fallen in the bath and he couldn’t get her out of the water. She wasn’t able to speak and was comatose – we didn’t know what was happening.  

I tried three times to get her out of the bath, and just couldn’t manage it. I told my grandson to run next door to ask the neighbour for help. The neighbour started doing CPR, and shortly after, the ambulance turned up. They tried to keep my daughter alive, but after an hour, they said they couldn’t bring her back. She died, leaving behind her two young children, then only eight and three, who witnessed the whole thing. 

She’d been ill for years with an autoimmune condition that affected her heart and lungs, and at the end of 2018, I moved in with her to help take care of the children as her condition worsened. Although I knew her illness would limit her life expectancy, I hadn’t planned for her sudden, early death. 

Without questioning, I took over the care of the children when she died. Neither of the children’s fathers were able to care for them. There was no contact from social services about their care – it was assumed I would fill the gap. Emotional and financial support wasn’t offered from anywhere.  

Read more:

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My son, who is now 34, moved in to help with the kids as well. 

With four of us living in a two-bed house, my son took one bedroom, my grandson the other, and my granddaughter and I slept in the living room – her on the cuddle chair and me on the sofa. 

The kids have hugely struggled since the death of their mum. Both have behavioural problems that I have to be ‘on call’ for, keeping me from being able to get a job anywhere. I often get phone calls from the school that one of them has thrown a tantrum or just walked out of class. 

Although they’ve had some counselling through the school, neither have had bereavement counselling. I’ve enquired, but the waiting lists are very long. 

Not able to work myself, the only income we had for years was widow, housing, child and council tax benefits. It has never been enough to cover all their necessary expenses. In 2022, we started on universal credit, so now get these payments too. 

Knowing I have racked up a lot of debt trying to make sure the children are fed and clothed, I’m petrified of opening the door in case it’s the bailiffs. They’ve come before, and even though I know I don’t have to let them in, I worry they might kick the door in. Even if they did, I would have nothing to offer them. 

I remember the first time I had to ask the school, then the food bank, for a food parcel. It felt demoralising and embarrassing. For years, I had donated food, and now I needed the donations for myself. 

In the winters, I only put the heat on for an hour in the morning and evening. We all just stay warm in several layers of clothes, our dressing gowns and warm duvets. 

Luckily, the kids have had second-hand uniforms given to use by people whose children are older. I wouldn’t have managed to get new uniform for them otherwise. 

I dread every time something in the house breaks, knowing the money isn’t there to replace it. Before Christmas, my oven broke. There was no money spare to get it fixed. We just used the hob and the microwave for months until a charity gifted us one. 

For Christmas and birthdays, the kids have what they need – shoes, coats, duvet covers, towels – rather than what they want. They seem to be OK with not having everything their friends have. I’m really proud of them for always being grateful for what they are given. 

But it does bother them that they’ve never been on holiday before. I feel bad when they hear other children boasting about the holidays they’ve been on. I just tell them to put their dream holidays on a list – a list that just keeps getting longer. 

I really wish I could send them to after school clubs – it might give them a focus and help with their behaviour – but there isn’t any spare money. 

Three years after my daughter’s death, I obtained special guardianship over the children. Even after this, I was told I wasn’t entitled to financial support because the children had never been in care. Kinship carers do the same job as foster carers, but we don’t get any financial support like foster carers do. Why can’t we too be allocated money to look after our children? 

But it isn’t just about money. If I had been given some training, the kids offered specialist counselling, and we’d had respite care, it would have made raising my grandchildren so much easier. For these last five years, we’ve been flying by the seat of our pants. I was thrown into the deep end and told to sink or swim, often feeling like we are all sinking. 

My grandchildren are falling behind because we haven’t had the support necessary after the death of their mother. 

Having already struggled previously with my mental health, I feel I’ve gone backwards these last five years. I’m nearly always emotionally drained, with no energy to have a life. 

Even though I wouldn’t want the children to be with anyone else, I just wish our family had more support, similar to what is given to foster carers. We shouldn’t just be left to get on with it. If it wasn’t for kinship carers, our kids would be put in foster care, and the government would have to pay strangers to look after them.

We should be supported to look after them, to love and care for them, in the only way that family can. Something needs to be done because these children, and their kinship carers, are suffering without the right support. 

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