When I was seventeen, my father passed away. My mum worked tirelessly in two jobs, but she never earned very much. We scrimped and saved on everything. Fruit and sweets were a luxury we could only afford at Christmas. I didnt have the courage to ask Mum for anything extra. I tried to cover my own expenses by picking up odd jobs. I have a younger sister, and together, with Mum, we did our absolute best so that she wouldnt ever feel she was missing out.
Sadly, Dads death wasnt the end of our troubles. Not long after, my mum suffered a stroke and had to be admitted to hospital. Shes never been able to walk since. She was granted disability benefits, but that didnt come to much. Life became especially difficult, but I kept telling myself things would get better.
I had to stop my studies at college, as suddenly I was the only breadwinner for our family. Looking after my poorly mother and my little sister was incredibly hard. Many people offered to help, but I always turned them down. Before her illness, Mum had been a genuinely kind and open-hearted woman. But after the stroke, she changed.
At first, she complained endlessly about her rotten luck, then found fault with my sister and meour cooking, the cleaning, or how much we spent on ourselves, however little it was. We cut corners everywhere.
I tried not to take her words too much to heart. After all, she was unwell, and I understood that. But it still hurt. I did everything for her, and nothing I did was ever enough. Friends often urged me to hire a nurse and find a better job, but I couldnt bring myself to leave Mum in someone elses hands. How could I? She has two daughtershow could I let a stranger look after her? It just felt wrong.
Mums complaints only increased. She scolded us for any little purchase and accused us of being wasteful, though we were pinching every penny we could.
I kept quiet and bottled it all up. For a long time, I managed. But then, an event happened that changed my feelings toward Mum for good.
I fell ill. My head throbbed, I had a fever, and I was coughing non-stop. I couldnt sleep a wink. In the morning, I decided I had to see the GP. My sister, alarmed, saw how poorly I looked. She got ready for school, gave me a hug, and asked me not to delay seeing a doctor. Mum, on the other hand, stuck to her usual line. I didnt need any treatment, she said. Id recover just fine at my age. She was in a far worse state than I was, so our money should go to her needs, not mine. If I spent what little we had on tests and appointments, she insisted, Id only end up being told it was flu. She accused me of not caring about her, even of wishing shed die.
I listened in silence, tears running down my cheeks. Honestly, I was at my wits end. For Mums sake, Id abandoned my studies, taken exhausting work, passed up other chancesand here she was, unable to see or appreciate it. I suppose Id reached my breaking point, because, for the first time, I shouted back at her. I told her exactly how I felt.
The doctor told me it was pneumonia and wanted to admit me to hospital, but I refused. I couldn’t leave my sister alone with Mum. Instead, I picked up the prescriptions and went straight to my friends house.
Emily welcomed me in right away. She gave me an earful for traipsing about instead of resting, but then we talked for ages. I told her what had been happening and asked if she could help me find a nurse for Mum. I also needed somewhere to stay I simply couldnt go back home.
Emily insisted I move in with her, at least until I could gather my things.
Coming back to the house, I was met at the door by Mum screaming her head off. Not a word about how I was feeling just more complaints about money. I gave her something to eat and went to rest in my room. I knew I couldnt live there anymore.
Emily was as good as her word; she quickly helped find a nurse for Mum and let me stay with her for a while. I changed jobs and stopped visiting Mum. Perhaps that makes me seem heartless, but I truly did everything I could for her, and never once did she thank me. Was it really worth all that effort? I find myself still wondering.
Now, each month I send money for Mums needs and to pay for her care worker. I even send more than necessary. Victoria, the woman caring for Mum, says she remembers us less and less. She never wishes us happy birthday anymore, though my sister and I never forget hers. But thats not the most important thing. I found new work, and soon Ill be moving out of Emilys place. My sister and I plan to rent a flat together. She supports me, and she says, We must care for our parents, but not if it means letting them slowly destroy us.We moved into our little flat two weeks latera space that was all ours, with secondhand furniture, mismatched mugs, and the warmth of quiet freedom. Our lives finally began to feel our own. Some evenings we sat by the window and watched city lights flicker in the distance, recalling memories of a time when hope was a stranger and sorrow our closest guest. But now, laughter came easier, even if it was tinged with old sadness.
I still sent money, called Victoria for updates, and honored the dutiful ties that remained. Yet the guilt I once carried had faded. I realized our lives cant be built entirely from sacrifice; we need sunlight, not only shadows. My sister and I began to plan simple tripsjust the market, a walk in the park. When we talked of the future, it wasnt with dread, but anticipation. It struck me that surviving was no longer enough. We deserved, in small ways, to live.
On my birthday, Emily brought over a cake, and my sister put candles in it, giggling when they wouldnt light. We made a wish together. I didnt wish for riches or for the past to change. I wished for peace, and maybe, somewhere along the way, forgiveness.
After the singing, my sister hugged me and whispered, Were okay, arent we?
I looked around at our messy, cheerful flat, the faces that meant the world to me, and feltat lastcertain in my answer.
Yes, I said. Were more than okay. We finally let ourselves belong to happiness.
And though the world was still hard, and memories sometimes pressed heavy on my heart, I held onto hopebittersweet, but finally, truly mine.
