Im seventy now, and I became a mother long before I ever learned to think about myself. I married young, and from the moment I was expecting my first child, my life began to revolve around everyone else. I never worked outside the homenot because I didnt want to, but because there was never another option. Someone had to be at home. My husband left early in the morning and came back late at night. The house was my domain. The children were my world. The tiredness was solely mine.
I remember the sleepless nights. One child with a fever, another being sick, a third crying. Mealways alone. No one ever asked if I was alright. Yet, every morning, Id get up, make breakfast, and carry on. I never uttered “I cant.” I never asked for help. I truly believed thats what a good mother was meant to do.
When the children grew older, I wanted to study somethingeven just take a short course. My husband told me, What for? Your work is finished now. I believed him. I stayed in the background, the constant support. Whenever one of the children missed a term at university, it was me who spoke to my husband and eased things over. When another became pregnant young, I was the one at doctors appointments, the one looking after her baby so she could get herself sorted. It was always me catching everything as it fell apart.
Then the grandchildren arrived and the house was busy again. School bags, toys, tears, and laughter filled the rooms. For years, I was nursery, canteen, nurse. I never asked for anything in return. I never complained. Even when I was completely worn out, theyd say, Mum, youre the only one who knows how to look after them properly. That kept me going.
Then my husband became ill. I cared for him right up until the very end. Afterwards, the excuses started: I cant manage this week, Lets see each other next week, Ill give you a ring later. Now, weeks can pass without seeing anyone. Im not exaggeratingweeks. Ive had birthdays where the only greeting is a message on WhatsApp. Every so often, I set two places at the table out of habit. It only hits me when the meal is ready and theres no one to call.
Once, I fell in the bathroom. It wasnt serious, but it frightened me. I sat on the floor and waited for someone to pick up the phone. No one answered. Eventually, I got myself up. I never mentioned it to anyone afterwards; I didn’t want them to worry. I taught myself to keep quiet.
My children do tell me they love me, and I know they mean it. But love without presence can ache just as deeply. They ring in a hurry, always so busy. Whenever I start to share anything, they say, Oh Mum, well talk later. That “later” never comes.
The hardest part isnt being on my own. The hardest thing is feeling that Ive gone from being needed to being unnecessary. Once, I was the cornerstone of everything, and now Im just a bit of an inconvenience in the diary. No one is unkind to me. Im simply not needed anymore.
What would you advise me to do?
