Im seventy now, and I became a mother long before I ever learned how to think of myself. I married young, and from my first pregnancy my whole world started revolving around others. I never worked outside the homenot because I didnt want to, but because the choice was already made. Someone had to be there. My husband would be out the door at dawn and not return until late in the evening. The house was mine. The children were mine. The exhaustion was mine, too.
I remember sleepless nights. One child running a fever, another being sick in the night, a third in tears. Just me. No one ever asked if I was alright. The next morning Id be up again, making tea and toast, carrying on as usual. I never once said, I cant. I never asked for help. I thought that was what a good mother ought to do.
When my children grew up, I wanted to study somethingeven just a short course. My husband told me, What for? Your job is done now. I believed him. I stayed quietly in the background, always offering support. When one of the children needed time off university, it was me who calmed my husband down. When another got pregnant young, I accompanied her to the doctors and looked after the baby while she found her feet. Whenever something fell apart, it was always me who picked up the pieces.
Then came the grandchildren, and the house once again filled up. School bags, toys, crying, laughter. For years, I was nursery, canteen, nurse. I never expected anything in return. I never complained. When I was completely worn out, theyd say, Mum, youre the only one who knows how to take care of them properly. Thats what kept me going.
Then my husband fell ill. I cared for him until his very last day. After that, the excuses started: Cant make it this week, Mum, Ill come round next time, Ill phone you later. Now whole weeks go by without anyone visiting. Im not exaggeratingsometimes its weeks. Ive spent birthdays with nothing but a WhatsApp message. Sometimes, without thinking, I lay out two plates on the table. I only realise when dinners ready that theres no one to call.
Once I slipped over in the bathroom. It wasnt serious, but it scared me. I sat there on the floor, waiting for someone to answer the phone. Nobody did. I got up by myself. Afterwards, I didnt tell anyone so I wouldnt worry them. Ive learned to be silent.
My children tell me they love me, and I know they truly do. But love without presence can hurt, too. They ring for a quick chat, always sounding in a rush. If I start telling a story, its always, Alright, Mum, well talk later. But later never seems to arrive.
The hardest thing isnt being alone. The hardest part is realising Ive gone from being needed to being unnecessary. I was the foundation holding everything up, and now Im an awkward obligation on their calendar. No one is unkind. Its just that Im no longer essential.
What advice would you give me?
