*Diary Entry*
There’s a saying: *“Out of sight, out of mind.”* I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, especially after speaking with my mother. It’s as if she’s forgotten she has a daughter, not just a son. How else can I explain her indifference?
After finishing secondary school, I left our little village—there was nothing there for me. I wanted to break free, make something of myself. So I moved to London, studied at university, built a career, met my husband. When our little one arrived, it was his parents—David and Margaret—who stepped up. Without them, we’d have been lost.
They helped us with the deposit on our mortgage. We even lived with them for two years to save up. It wasn’t easy, but we managed. Margaret became like a second mum—teaching me, supporting me. Still, I longed for our own place. Not because I didn’t love them, but every family needs their own space.
And my own mother? She’s barely been part of my life. A rare phone call, always just to complain or gush about my brother. Never once did she ask how I was. But I knew everything about him—what marks he got in school, how tall he’d grown, even what brand of trainers he wore. It was the same when I was at uni. She never cared about my exams, but she’d go on endlessly about his football trophies.
I got used to it. Then, when we finally bought our flat, I rang her, excited to share the news. Did she listen? No. Something far more important was happening—my brother was getting married!
*”Oh, she’s such a lovely girl! You remember her, don’t you? The wedding’s next month—so much to organise!”*
She chattered on about venues, dresses, guest lists. Meanwhile, I remembered how she’d called my own wedding a *”waste of money.”* In the end, she didn’t even come, claiming she was ill. I still think she just couldn’t be bothered.
Back then, my brother was nineteen, his bride eighteen. Where’d they get the money for a wedding? Mum and his in-laws chipped in. But when we married, all we got was, *”Come if you can.”* We didn’t. Work was busy, and honestly, we didn’t want to. My brother and I were never close, and seeing Mum dote on him hurt too much.
Six months later, she rang again—not to ask after us, but to announce they’d bought my brother a flat near hers.
*”No need for a loan! Sold Grandma’s place, and his in-laws helped too!”*
Grandma’s flat… She always said she’d keep it for retirement income. When I was renting with a baby, struggling, it never once crossed her mind to offer it. But for him? No expense spared.
The worst came when I got pregnant. I was terrified. I needed my mum—just for a little while. I even offered to pay her train fare. But she didn’t come. *”Oh, your niece’s got a cold, I can’t leave her.”* Never mind that my sister-in-law has her own mother. That didn’t matter.
Margaret knew straight away. She came to the hospital, held me, got everything ready at home. After the birth, she was there every step—feeding me, cleaning, taking the baby so I could rest. I cried from sheer gratitude. And my mother? I texted her when our daughter was born. Her reply? *”Congratulations.”* That’s it. No call. No asking how we were.
Two weeks passed. Not a word. Then she rang—to brag about how my niece was *”nearly walking.”* I listened in silence, then hung up. I haven’t called since. Neither has she.
Maybe it’s better this way. I’m tired of feeling like an afterthought. If she thinks she only has one child, one grandchild—fine. But it doesn’t make the ache any lighter.
*Lesson learned: Blood doesn’t always mean family. Sometimes, love comes from those who choose to stay.*
