When Your Own Children Become Strangers: A Mother’s Tale
In my youth, full of energy and dreams, I, Margaret Johnson, dedicated myself entirely to my children. People around me often warned, “Don’t lose yourself in them completely; save something for yourself.” But I didn’t listen. Now, at 69, I find myself alone with nobody to hand me a glass of water. The words of those people echo in my mind, and I deeply regret my past choices.
My husband, Anthony, passed away when our son was only four and our daughter was six. Being left alone with two young children was a challenge. I worked two jobs to provide them with everything they needed. My mother helped, often reminding me, “Children need their mother, not just their daily bread.” But who would have supported us if I had stayed home?
I tried to make up for their father’s absence by showering them with care and spoiling them. I thought this would fill the void left by Anthony’s death. The kids grew up and each started families of their own. I strived to be the perfect grandmother to my grandchildren, continuing to give myself entirely to family.
One morning, I woke up unable to feel my legs. Struggling, I crawled to the phone and called my son. He answered, “Mum, I’m very busy right now, I can’t come over.” My daughter didn’t pick up the phone. I called for an ambulance—thankfully, they arrived without fuss.
At the hospital, they diagnosed me with leg thrombosis. The doctors said the clots could have broken off at any moment, which would have been fatal. I faced a lengthy treatment and strict bed rest. I pleaded with my children to visit me. When they finally came, they bluntly said in the hospital room, “We have our own responsibilities and can’t take care of you.”
My daughter explained that her youngest son was applying to university, and my son informed me that his wife was down with the flu. They felt it was best for me to stay in the hospital alone. Such “valid” reasons to leave their mother in her time of need.
After being discharged, I returned to an empty flat. I lacked the strength even to cook for myself. My neighbor, Mrs. Anne Smith, offered help for a small fee. We became friends, supporting each other on our modest pensions.
Looking back now, I see that overprotectiveness and indulgence don’t replace genuine love and respect. I failed to teach my children to value and respect their loved ones. In my youth, I sowed permissiveness, and in old age, I reap solitude.
I want to address all parents: don’t lose yourself entirely in your children, and don’t forget about yourself. Teach them love and respect, rather than just catering to their whims. What you instill in their hearts when they’re young will determine what you reap in your later years.
