I am 65 years old, and for the first time in my life, I am wondering: our children, to whom my husband and I devoted everything, no longer need us. The three children, to whom we gave our time, energy, and money, received everything they wanted and simply left us behind. My son doesn’t even answer the phone when I call him. Sometimes I think: will none of them even offer us a glass of water when we grow older?
I got married at the age of 25. David was my classmate, and he courted me for a long time. He even enrolled in the same university to be close to me. A year after our modest wedding, I became pregnant, and our daughter was born. David had to quit his studies to work, while I took an academic leave.
Those were hard times. My husband worked almost non-stop, and I was learning how to be a mother while trying to finish my studies. Two years later, I got pregnant again. I had to switch to part-time studies, and David worked even harder to support us.
Despite the challenges, we managed to raise two children: our elder daughter, Emily, and our younger son, Michael. When Emily started school, I finally managed to find a job in my field. Life started to improve: David now had a stable job with a good salary, and we set up our own home. But just as we began to feel relief, I became pregnant again.
The birth of our third child was a new challenge for us. David worked even harder to provide for the family, while I focused on taking care of our youngest daughter, Anna. I’m not sure how we managed, but we slowly regained stability. When Anna started first grade, I finally felt a sense of relief.
However, the difficulties didn’t end there. Emily, just as she was starting her university studies, announced that she was getting married. We didn’t discourage her since we ourselves got married young. Organizing the wedding and helping her buy a home drained a significant amount of money.
Michael, our son, also wanted his own home. We couldn’t say no to him, so we took another loan and bought him an apartment. Fortunately, he quickly found a good job at a prestigious company.
When Anna was in her final year of high school, she told us she dreamed of studying abroad. It was a difficult time for us, but we managed to gather the money to send her to her dream university. Anna left, and we were left alone.
Over time, the children visited us less and less. Emily, though she lived in the same city, rarely came by. Michael sold his apartment, bought a new one in the capital, and visited us even less. Anna, after completing her studies, stayed abroad.
We gave everything to our children: our time, our youth, our money, and in the end, we became nothing to them. We do not expect help or financial support from them. We want only one thing—to hear from them occasionally, for them to visit us, or say a kind word.
But it seems that is now in the past. Now I am wondering: maybe it’s time to stop waiting and start living for ourselves? Perhaps, at the age of 65, we have earned a bit of happiness, which we always put last?
