My mother left our home when I was eleven. One day, she simply packed her things and walked out.
Dad told me she needed to sort her life out, and that we wouldnt be in touch with her for a while. That while turned into years.
I stayed on with Dad. We adjusted to a new routine, moved house, changed schools. Gradually, her name wasnt spoken aloud anymore.
All through my teenage years, I had no idea where she was. There were no phone calls, no letters, no explanations. On birthdays, graduations, or any important milestonesmy mother never appeared. My dad never spoke ill of her, but he never tried to contact her either. When I asked, hed just say that she chose to leave and Id have to accept that.
I grew up without her. I didnt know what her voice sounded like anymore. The only image I had left was from a couple of faded photographs.
When I turned twenty-eight, something inside me shifted. I decided to try to find her. Not because anyone else pushed me, but because I needed some answers.
I asked Dad directly if he knew where she was. He said he did. Hed always known which town she was living in. When I was younger, hed had her address, and over the years hed heard from others that she was still in the same area. He found an old notebook and gave me an address, though he warned me she might not live there anymore.
I went down to that small town for the weekend. I asked in a few shops and a bakery, and eventually, someone pointed out her house. It was a modest place, with white bars on the windows and a metal gate.
I knocked.
She opened the door. She didnt ask who I was. She just looked at me, waiting for me to speak. I told her my name, that I was her daughter. She showed no surprise, no emotion at all. She asked me not to come inside, so we spoke on the doorstep.
I told her I just wanted to see her and to understand why shed left. She told me she had no wish to rekindle any relationship and that shed rather I didnt contact her again. She explained that when she was eleven, her own mother had left her, and from that moment shed learned one thingto leave before getting too attached. She said she never wanted to be a mother. Staying with me had been a decision she was never ready for, and leaving was the only thing she knew how to do.
I asked her why she never tried to reach out once I was older. She said Dad had always known where to find her, but hed never called to say she should try to reconnect with me. To her, that was a sign it was better to stay away. She didnt want to reopen the past or try for a relationship now, not after all these years.
We spoke for less than fifteen minutes. There were no hugs, no drawn-out goodbyes. She said she hoped I would understand her choice and closed the door.
That same day, I left the town.
I havent tried to contact her again. I havent written. Ive heard nothing about her since.
I sometimes wonderwas I wrong to ever go looking for her?
