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.
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.”
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
