My mother left our home when I was eleven years old. One day, she simply gathered her belongings and departed.
My father told me she needed to sort her life out, and that we wouldnt be in touch with her for a while. That while stretched into years.
I remained with my father. We changed our routine, moved house, I started at a new school. Her name gradually ceased to be uttered at all.
All through my teenage years, I had no idea where she was. There were no phone calls, no letters, no explanations. Birthdays, graduations, important occasionsmy mother did not appear. My father never spoke ill of her, but neither did he seek her out. Whenever I asked, he told me she had chosen to go, and that I must accept it.
I grew up without her. I didnt know what her voice sounded like. I had only a handful of old photographs to recall her face.
When I reached the age of twenty-eight, I decided to search for her. Not because anyone urged me to, but because I needed answers.
I asked my father outright if he knew where she was. He replied that he did. Hed always known which town shed settled in. He said that when I was small he had her address, and over the years had occasionally heard from acquaintances that she remained in the same area. He gave me an address, scrawled in an old notebook, but warned me she might have moved on.
I travelled to the small town that weekend. I made quiet enquiries in a few local shops and at a bakery, until someone pointed me to her house. It was modest, with white railings and a metal gate.
I rang the bell.
She answered. She didnt ask who I wasshe simply looked at me, waiting for me to speak. I told her my name and that I was her daughter. She showed neither surprise nor emotion. She asked me not to come inside, so we spoke on the doorstep.
I explained I only wished to see her and to understand why she left. She told me that she had no desire to reconnect, and that it would be best if I didnt contact her again. She explained that her own mother had abandoned her when she too was eleven, and from that moment shed learned one thing: to leave before becoming too attached. She said she never truly wished to be a mother. Remaining with me was a choice she wasnt prepared for, and leaving was the only thing she felt she could do.
I asked why shed never reached out as I grew older. She told me my father had always known how to contact her, but hed never called to say I wanted her in my life. In her mind, that was a sign she should stay away. She didnt wish to reopen the past or attempt a relationship after so many years.
The conversation lasted less than fifteen minutes. There were no embraces. No lingering farewells. She said she hoped Id come to understand her decision, and then closed the door.
That same day, I left the town behind.
I havent tried to contact her since. I havent written. Ive heard nothing of her from that day to this.
I often wonder: was I wrong to seek her out?
