**Diary Entry**
How swiftly life has slipped away… And how quietly we’ve become unnecessary to our own children.
Margaret Whitaker had always been a strong, composed woman with a gentle voice and kind eyes. She raised three children—watched them grow, married them off, and sent them into the world. Now, she sat by the window of her cottage, gazing at the autumn sky, thumbing through old letters, faded postcards, and yellowed photographs. A woolen blanket lay beside her, and on her lap, a wooden box held her dearest treasures: pictures of the children, cards from the grandchildren, newspaper clippings where the family was mentioned, however briefly.
Her eldest, Edward, lived abroad—left young, just after finishing university. Years had passed since then. Not once had he visited. Just the odd photo online, rare emails, and occasional terse birthday texts. Margaret didn’t blame him. She understood—life, work, his own family. But it ached. God, how it ached.
Her middle child, Charlotte, had married a Royal Navy officer. Constant moves, hurried phone calls, fleeting visits. When they did come, it was always rushed. Her husband, Peter, had always respected the son-in-law, proud Charlotte had settled well. When they visited, Charlotte’s eyes shone with happiness—and perhaps that was what mattered most.
But it was her youngest, Emily, who troubled her most. After the divorce, Emily left for London, leaving her little boy in Margaret’s care. Back then, Margaret had said, *”You’re still young, lovely—go build your life. I’ll mind your boy.”* And Emily did—got a degree, found work. Two years later, she took her son back.
When Emily came for him, the boy clung to Margaret’s skirt, refusing to let go. He cried silently, cheeks wet but voice steady. Margaret bit her lip and stayed quiet. She didn’t dare interfere.
Three years passed. Her heart pulled harder toward Emily and her grandson. One morning, she broke.
*”Peter, I’m going to visit Emily. Just for a few days. Something doesn’t feel right.”*
He nodded. He worried too, but his own health had worsened with the autumn chill. At dawn, he saw her off at the station, pressing a bundle of sausage rolls into her hands and kissing her forehead.
*”Take care, love. Ring me when you arrive.”*
She made it—wearily, but she made it. Two bags of treats on her shoulders, a carrier full of pickles, jam, and knitted socks in hand. She called Emily an hour before arriving. The reply was brisk.
*”Mum, why didn’t you say earlier? I’ve work, then fetching Leo from school, then shopping—this isn’t the country, you can’t just drop in!”*
*”Sorry, love,”* Margaret murmured. *”Wanted to surprise you.”*
Her grandson met her at the door. Tall now, broad-shouldered—so like Peter. But his eyes were distant. Polite. Cold.
*”Hi, Gran,”* he said stiffly, barely returning the hug.
The flat was pristine, modern—sterile. Emily threw together soup and set out five tiny meatballs. Margaret ate one. Reached for another—then stopped. Shame crept in. She remembered boiling whole pots of stew for holidays, watching them eat until full. Here, everything was measured.
That evening, she and Leo watched old home videos, school plays. He was courteous—but a stranger. Emily kept vanishing—work, friends, *”things to sort.”*
Three days in, Margaret felt like an intruder. Unwanted. One night, she overheard Leo ask:
*”Mum, when’s Uncle Tom coming? He promised to take me to the match.”*
*”Soon,”* Emily replied. *”Once Gran leaves.”*
And then, Margaret understood. Fully. Painfully.
She packed in silence. Dressed. Waited by the door. Emily emerged, frowning.
*”Mum—where are you going? Your train’s tomorrow!”*
*”Leaving early. Don’t fret. Tell Leo his grandad sends love. I’ll manage.”*
She said nothing the whole way to the station. On the train, she stared into the dark, tears streaking her face.
How quickly life passes. How much we give—only to be so easily set aside. They’re grown. They have their lives. And we, the parents… we’re left on the sidelines.
Peter was waiting on the platform. He pulled her close, holding tight.
*”Maggie, I’ve been out of my mind! Lost half a stone worrying.”*
She smiled. Her eyes welled—but now, from happiness.
*”Take me home, Pete. Home… It’s the only place we’re still wanted.”*
