It seemed so simple then.
When Asia comes home from her divorce, she looks like a shadow of herself. Her eyes are puffy from crying, and her shoulders sag as if under the weight of the world. I swear to myself then that I will do everything to help her, to see her smile again. I will give everything I have – and that is exactly what I do.
– „Mom, I don't know what to do anymore. I have nothing – no job, no money, not even a home – she would say, sitting on the couch, hugging her children.
„Asia, you have me. We will get through this together. I will help you get back on your feet.”
It seemed so simple then. I was ready for anything, just to be able to start over. I sold the apartment that was my refuge, my guarantee of a peaceful old age. I moved into a small rented room, and I used the money to pay off her debts, rent an apartment for her and the children, and for basic expenses.
I helped with the grandchildren, cooked, cleaned, did everything so that she could focus on finding a job and building her life anew. For the first few months, everything seemed fine. Asia started working, the kids went back to normal, and I felt like my help really made a difference.
Over time, however, something began to go wrong. Asia became increasingly cold, avoiding conversation, and her tone towards me became more indifferent. When I tried to talk about our relationship, she would cut the subject off.
„Asia, is everything okay? I have the impression that something has changed– I asked one evening.
Her answer was like a knife stabbed straight through the heart.
& „Mom, you have to finally understand that I don't need you at every turn. I want to live my life, without you in the background.”
I didn't know what to say. How could she say that? Did she forget that everything I did was for her? I sold the house, gave up a comfortable life so she could get back on her feet after the divorce. And now she says I'm redundant?
– „Asia, I did everything to help you. Can't you see that?”
– „It was your decision, Mom. I didn't ask you to. But now please – leave me alone.”
Those words rang in my ears long after she left the room. How could she say something like that? Can a mother's love really be so easily rejected?
Today I sit in my small rented apartment. Asia has cut off contact with me. She says she needs to “cut off from the past,” that she needs “space.” Sometimes I try to call her, but she never answers. I only know about her grandchildren from what I see on social media. I look at the photos of them smiling in their new, beautiful lives, and I wonder if they will ever ask why Grandma suddenly disappeared from their world.
Every day I ask myself: what did I do wrong? Was my help too great, too overwhelming? Or maybe a mother's love is always too strong for children to understand?
I don't know what the future will bring. Maybe Asia will understand that everything I did was out of love. Maybe she'll come back, maybe she'll apologize. Or maybe I'll never see her again. I know one thing – I love her unconditionally, even if now this love hurts more than anything I've ever experienced in my life.
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