The first few months were good.
I never thought that in my old age I would feel like an intruder in my own family. I always thought that everything I did over the years – for my son, for his future – would matter. I believed that family meant support, security, that you could always count on them. But now that I'm older, I feel like my existence is an inconvenient obligation for them.
After my husband died, I was left alone in a big house. My son, Marek, insisted that I move in with him and his family. „Mom, you can't live there alone. You'll have better conditions with us, the children will have grandma close by, and we'll help you,” he said with concern. At first I resisted, I didn't want to bother them, but in the end I was convinced. I sold the house and put the money into renovating their apartment. I thought we would start a new, shared stage of life.
The first few months were good. I was happy to see my grandchildren every day, to help them with their homework, to tell them bedtime stories. I tried not to impose, to be discreet and useful. But over time I began to notice that my presence was bothering my daughter-in-law, Karolina.
– Mom, please don't touch this – she would say when I tried to clean up the kitchen.
– Maybe it's better if Grandma doesn't cook. Yesterday she burned the soup – she once said jokingly in front of the children.
Over time, these small remarks turned into a coldness that was felt in every gesture. I could do nothing that would please her. Every attempt I made to help was met with impatience or criticism.
One day I heard her talking to Mark in the kitchen. They didn't know I was nearby.
– Marek, we have to do something. Your mom is starting to wear me out. She's always hanging around the house, butting in on our business. I can't do this! – she spoke in a whisper, but her tone was sharp.
– Karolina, she's my mom. Don't overdo it – he tried to calm her down.
– She may be your mom, but this is our home. She should understand that. Maybe it's better for her to think of a place for herself. I don't know, a nursing home. ? She'd be better off there – she added with irritation.
These words hit me like a blow. Nursing home? For me? Is my presence really such a problem for them? Does everything I've done in my whole life no longer matter?
Since that conversation I haven't been able to find my place in this house. Every day I feel like I'm just a burden, someone who gets in the way of their lives. I stopped cooking, I stopped cleaning, I stopped talking to Karolina because I'm afraid that every word I say will irritate her.
What hurts me the most is that Marek – my son, my child, for whom I gave everything – does not see how much I suffer. He does not see that in this house, which was supposed to be a shelter, I feel alien and unwanted.
Every day I ask myself: Is this my old age? Do I really deserve to be treated like a burden? But the answer never comes. All that's left is pain and the feeling that I'll never feel like part of this family again.
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