My son called me, complaining about life, and I immediately knew what he wanted, but my decision was firm.
I am the mother of three children: two sons and a daughter. They are all grown-up now, and I am eager to have grandchildren, though I know they need to establish their own families first. However, things are different these days — it’s trendy to live in “partnerships,” delay marriage, and extend starting a family over the years. I always thought my main task was to set my children on their feet, to give them wings so they could be independent, and then I could breathe easy and live for myself. But no! That peace never came. I still find myself torn apart with worry over them. Why is everything on me? Because I married a man who was immature, unable to look after himself or the children, leaving me alone to carry this burden.
I’ll tell you in order. My eldest son, Alex, views family life with skepticism and isn’t even thinking about marriage yet. My youngest, Mary, has been choosy with suitors, playing the field wisely without losing her head. Now she’s found her person, and they’ve been living together for two years in a small town near Birmingham, just waiting to get married. I am almost at peace with Mary — she knows what she wants.
But it’s my middle son, David, who’s giving me gray hairs and sleepless nights! Even in college, he moved in with a girl. “Mum, I’m getting married!” he announced happily. But his “love of a lifetime,” Natalie, turned out to be cunning: she waved her tail, drained money from him — and from me too — then left him for someone else. It hit me like a thunderbolt. They rented a flat to live together, but money was always tight. “Mum, I can’t pay the rent!” he would call each month, his voice quivering with despair. I would ask, “Why don’t you both pay?” And he’d say, “Natalie has no money; she’s saving for a gift for her mum.” So, I helped — I sent over money so he wouldn’t drop out of college and break under the strain.
When Natalie left, I decided: let this be a lesson for him. Under my strict supervision, David finished university, got his degree, and I thought he had wised up a bit. But no! Foolish people learn from others’ mistakes, but wise ones from their own, and that too only by the third try. Then came Olivia. “Mum, she’s this, she’s that! She’s the best in the world!” he gushed, eyes shining. At first glance, the girl seemed sensible, domestic. I was even relieved — maybe at least this one wouldn’t let him down? They moved to another city, rented a flat to live independently. And everything repeated: money was still short.
David by then was earning a decent salary — some families with kids manage on such amounts for a whole month! But for two adults, it was “not enough.” Olivia could go without working for six months or even a year: claiming it’s hard to find a job, or her health lets her down, or the team isn’t “right” for her. They’ve been living in this “partnership” for five years now. And throughout all these years, I sent money to my son regularly. Small amounts, but I sent it! I know it was long overdue to wean him off this, but every time he called, lamenting, “Mum, I don’t even have money for bread!”, my heart broke. He is, after all, my son, my flesh and blood! How could I say “no”?
I tried to open his eyes, yelling down the phone, “David, this is not normal! How can you squander your budget like this? Where does the money go? Given today’s prices, you should have more than enough!” To which he replied, “I know, you never liked Olivia!” My son doesn’t hear me, as if I’m speaking to a wall. What to do? I feel lost, and anxiety gnaws at me.
Yesterday, he called again. His voice was tired, almost broken: he left his job, hasn’t found a new one, and doesn’t know how to move forward. His girlfriend — or is it now wife? — is currently working and earning. But here’s the paradox: David’s money is “shared” money, but Olivia’s money is just hers, and she spends it exclusively on herself. Seriously, what kind of life is this? I listened to his complaints and already knew where it was heading. He was again going to ask for “just a little” money to get through the month.
But I told myself: enough! Firmly, like a sentence. Let them solve their problems themselves. Let Olivia support him, or let him finally see who he’s joined his life with. My patience is exhausted. I can no longer be their eternal lifeline. My heart aches, tears well up, but I clenched my teeth and decided: not a penny more. Now I need advice: how do I withstand this? How do I not give in when he calls again with complaints? How do I keep my word when my mother’s love screams: “Help him”? I want my son to become a man, not a boy clinging to my apron strings. Help me find the strength!
