I always tried to be close.
I remember it like it was yesterday. Michael was five years old and sat on my lap, laughing as I read him his favorite story. “Grandma, you're the best in the world,” he said then, and I felt my heart swell with pride. He was my first grandson, the apple of my eye. Every smile of his was like a reward for me, every “I love you” like the most beautiful melody.
I always tried to be close. I took care of him when my parents were busy. I cooked his favorite pancakes, helped with his homework, comforted him when he cried. For years, I had the impression that our bond was unbreakable. But life showed me how wrong I was.
Michał grew up, moved to another city to study, and then started working. I was happy for his successes, although he rarely found time to call. „Grandma, I have so much on my mind. I'll call you tomorrow,” he said, and I believed him. But it's „tomorrow” turned into weeks, then months.
The first time I felt truly forgotten was when Michael visited me after a long break. He came, sat down at the table, but didn't ask how I was feeling. Instead, he started the conversation with a request.
– Grandma, I have a small problem. I need a loan, just for a moment, to pay for the apartment. I promise I'll pay it back as soon as I get paid, – he said, avoiding my gaze.
I agreed. How could I refuse my grandson, whom I loved more than life itself. ? I gave him everything I had. But then he disappeared. He didn't call, he didn't visit. He never paid back the loan, and I didn't have the courage to ask for it. Whenever I tried to call him, he was always busy.
A few months later, he showed up again. This time he wanted money to fix his car.
„Grandma, this is really the last time. I don't know what I would do without you.” I gave it to him, even though I felt something was wrong. He promised again that he would call, that he would come, that we would spend time together. But again he disappeared.
Now I only see him when he needs something. He doesn't ask how I feel, how I am. He doesn't remember my birthday, he doesn't call for holidays. I feel like an ATM to him, not a grandma.
Last time, when he asked me for money again, I asked:
– Michael, do you even remember that I'm your grandma? Do I only matter to you when you need something?
He fell silent. For a moment I thought I saw a shadow of shame in his eyes. But he quickly replied:
– Grandma, don't overdo it. You know I love you.
Does he really love me? Or is he just telling me what he wants to hear?
Today I'm sitting at the kitchen table, looking at old photos of Michael from his childhood. In each one we're together – smiling, happy. I wonder where along the way we lost that bond. Was it my fault? Did I spoil him too much? Could I have done something differently?
I feel like I've lost not only my grandson, but also a part of myself. I used to be someone important to him, now I'm just a memory that reminds him of me when he has a problem. And it hurts more than I can express.
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