When Kamil and Magda got married, they were young and full of hope.
I'm standing at the bus stop with one suitcase and a heavy heart. The chill of the evening penetrates my thin coat, but I don't feel cold. I feel empty. Just a few hours ago I was at my son's house, in a place that I've considered mine for years. Now I'm here, asking: „How did this happen?”. My daughter-in-law said I wasn't needed any more, and my son… was silent.
When Kamil and Magda got married, they were young and full of hope. Soon they had their first child, then their second. When Magda went back to work, they asked me for help.
– „Mom, we need you. We don't want to put our kids in a nursery. Could you help us?&c?– Kamil asked with hope in his voice.
I didn't hesitate for a moment. I was already retired, and my grandchildren meant the world to me. I moved in with them to make their lives easier. Every day I looked after the children, prepared meals, cleaned. I always thought I did it out of love, that I was part of their family.
The years passed. The children grew up, and I became their closest confidante. When Magda and Kamil came home late from work, I would put the little ones to sleep. When they had free time, I tried to disappear from the house so they had space for themselves. I never complained, although sometimes I felt tired.
Yesterday, Magda asked me to talk. Her tone was cold and her gaze was stern.
– „We need to talk. I think it's time for you to find another place to live.”
I froze. I thought I misheard.
– „What do you mean, Magda? But… I've lived here for years. I help you with the kids, with the house.”
Her answer was like a punch to the heart.
– „The kids are older now. They'll manage. And we… need space. We don't want you to feel at home here. This is our home.”
I didn't know what to say. I looked at Kamil for support, but he avoided my gaze.
– „Kamil, what do you think? Do you really think so?”
His silence was worse than any words. Magda continued:
– „Don't get me wrong, we appreciate what you've done for us. But your presence is starting to overwhelm us. We want to live our own lives.”
And so, a few hours later, I packed my things. Kamil helped me carry my suitcase downstairs, but he still avoided talking. When I left, the children were running around the living room, unaware that Grandma was leaving their home.
Now I stand here, at the bus stop, trying to understand how this happened. How love and sacrifice can be so easily forgotten ? For years, I was everything to them – mother, grandmother, caregiver. Now I am nothing.
I don't know where I'm going now. I don't have my own house anymore because I sold it to help Kamil and Magda when they bought theirs. I have small savings that will allow me to rent a room for a while. But what next?
I feel pain and regret that won't leave me alone. Did I really do something wrong? Was I too present, too helpful? Or was I just convenient until I was needed? Now that their lives are in order, I’ve become a burden.
I watch the bus approaching and gather the strength to get on. I know I have to find a new place, a new life. But I also know that the wound they inflicted on me will never heal. I was their mother, their grandmother, part of their family. And now I’m just a memory they want to leave behind.
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