I came to visit because I missed you, but my own children feel like strangers now
A parents heart always aches for their children, no matter how old they get. Sometimes, however, parents find themselves disappointed by the adults their beloved children have become. Such was the case for Helen, whose story unfolded with all the subtle sorrow of a family drama.
Helen raised three children with boundless love. Now, each one is grown and has carved out their own path. Her eldest, Edward, has made a life for himself overseas. He sends postcards marked with far-off places, snapshots of sandy beaches and city skylines, all of which Helen tucks lovingly into a drawer, revisiting them whenever loneliness grows too heavy.
We miss you terribly, Edward. Couldnt you visit, just once? Wed love to finally meet your wife and our grandchildren, she writes in her neatest hand on pale blue paper.
Her middle daughter, Alice, is married to a service officer. The family is constantly on the move, raising their little girl between new houses and unfamiliar cities. Occasionally, they swing by for a hurried cup of tea and some biscuits. Helens husband, Richard, has always respected Alices choice in a husband, often remarking, Shes done well for herself.
Then theres the youngest, Abigail. Life hasnt been kind to her. Shed married young, but her husband left, and she was left to raise their son alone. Following her mothers advice, Abby moved to London in search of something better. She found work at a clothing factory and took her boy with her.
One cloudy morning, Helen stood by the kitchen, clutching a battered suitcase. Will you be all right without me for a week? she asked Richard. Id like to see Abby and check how shes getting on.
Richard gave her a gentle smile. Go on, love. Shell be glad of the company. He carried the heavy bags out to the taxi and waved as she disappeared down the lane.
The train journey was long and jostling. In her second-class seat, Helen watched the rain slide down the window, rehearsing in her head the words shed say to her daughter, whom she hadnt seen in three years.
When at last she arrived, Helen phoned her daughter, only to learn, Mum, you should have let me know you were coming. Im at work and cant leave until this evening.
Helens face fell. I wanted it to be a surprise! But dont worry, Ill find my way.
All right, but youre sure youll be OK waiting? Abby sounded doubtful, distracted. Helen assured her shed manage, although her heart was already heavy with the sense of being an imposition.
Eventually she made her way to her daughters flat. At the door, her grandson Tom opened upa tall, striking boy, the very image of his grandfather in youth.
Hello, Tom! Helen swept him into a warm hug.
Thats enough, Gran, he mumbled, wriggling free.
Helen bustled in, exhausted. Why didnt you say you were coming sooner? her daughter asked, wiping her forehead.
I wanted to tidy up and get dinner ready for you. Left work early so I could make shepherds pie and peel some potatoes.
As the small flat filled with the comforting aroma of home cooking, Helens mobile buzzed. It was Richard, worried about her travels. She soothed him, describing the dinner Abby had prepared and insisting that she was safe.
At the cramped table, Abby presented a plate stacked with five golden-brown pies. How many would you like, Mum? One or two?
Helen, weary and hungry, could have eaten three, but instead she said, Just leave the plate, darlingwell see how we go!
The meal was meagre; the festive welcome shed dreamt of was more subdued than shed hoped. Helen quietly resolved to slip a little money into her daughters purse before leaving.
At dinner, Abby abruptly asked, So, Mum, when do you think youll be heading back?
Helen, stung, forced a smile. Tomorrow, if Im in the way.
The following days unfolded in solitary silences. By day, Helen sat alone, listening to the sounds of London outside the window; by night, everyone retreated to their rooms. Tom vanished to visit a friend next door, Abby left to meet her mates for a drink, and Helen found herself remembering the laughter that used to echo through her own kitchen.
Restless, Helen overheard her grandson mutter, Whens Uncle Edward visiting? He promised wed go to see a football match.
After Grans gone, Abby replied flatly.
The realisation stung. Packing her bag before dawn, Helen crept to the door, too hurt to say goodbye.
At the train station, Richard was waiting, his face lighting up at the sight of her. In that moment, Helen saw the truth laid bare: all the warmth and care given to their children seemed unneeded, unreturned.
She nestled into Richards arms, the grief of a mothers hope gently surrendering to the bittersweet comfort of coming home.
