When I was 24, my life took a devastating turn. My boyfriend died in a car accident, leaving me a widow with three kids. I was barely making ends meet on minimum wage, struggling to pay rent and feed my children. I had no choice but to turn to my mom for help.
“Mom, can you take us in? We have nowhere else to go,” I pleaded.
But she shook her head. “My new boyfriend wouldn’t like it,” she said, her voice cold and dismissive.
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I was shattered. I faced the hardest years of my life alone. My kids and I lived with almost nothing. We survived on coupons, I juggled three jobs, and I barely slept more than four hours a night. It was a nightmare, but slowly, I managed to pull through. After a few years, I stood tall again. I became a proud mom with healthy kids and a steady income.
Seventeen years later, my mom showed up at my door. I hadn’t heard from her all this time. She looked frail and desperate.
“Please, let me stay for at least a week,” she begged, tears streaming down her face.
I felt a surge of anger. How could she have the nerve to ask for my help now?
As I closed the door, she said, “If I had helped you back then, you wouldn’t have achieved all this. Now you have your own home and you seem to have succeeded in life.”
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Her words stunned me. She continued, “My boyfriend made me forget my duties as a mother. I was blinded by love and afraid to lose him. I’m sorry.”
Before leaving, she added, “Please remember, a mother is not devoid of mistakes. I am only human…”
I couldn’t forgive her. Not after she ignored me and her grandchildren for all these years, knowing we had no one else. What should I do?
Yours,
Stephy
