I gave up everything for my daughters, and now I’m alone with no one needing me anymore.” Why are my own children treating me this way?
When our daughters grew older, my husband and I finally sighed with relief. We thought the hardest times were behind us, as we had carried all the weight on our shoulders. Both of us worked at the factory, living paycheck to paycheck. The pay was minimal. Yet, we never allowed our girls to feel less than others. They always had decent clothes, school supplies, and even money for the movies.
My husband and I never indulged in anything unnecessary. I don’t even remember the last time I bought myself a new coat—everything went to the girls. Then, one by one, they both went to university. And again, it was expenses on top of expenses. With their scholarships, they could barely cover the bus fare, so we helped them. We bought clothes, paid the rent, and contributed to their food costs. I became very skilled at counting every penny. But I never regretted it: the important thing was that they never lacked anything.
After graduation, both of them married. My husband and I were happy—they were settled. Then, almost immediately, the grandchildren arrived—two boys, one from the older daughter and the other from the younger. And so, the wheel began to turn again. Once their maternity leaves were over, both daughters said it was too early to put the kids in daycare and asked me for help. By then, I had retired but was still doing cleaning work to make ends meet. I talked to my husband, and we decided that I would take care of the grandchildren, and he would continue working.
That’s how we lived: two pensions and his salary. The sons-in-law, meanwhile, had started a business together, and over time, their business was flourishing. We were proud of them. If they ever asked for money, we never refused—how could we? After all, they were our children.
Then, one day, everything fell apart. My husband went to work and… never came back. A heart attack. They couldn’t save him in time. It felt like the ground beneath my feet crumbled. We had lived together for forty-two years, and now I had no idea how to keep going. I was left alone. For a while, the girls visited me, took the kids, and enrolled them in daycare. Then, suddenly, it was like they had erased me from their lives.
I realized my pension was hardly enough. Before, we could get by with my husband’s salary. But now? Bills, groceries, medications… sometimes I stood in the pharmacy deciding between buying medicine or bread. The day the girls finally came to visit, I found the courage to speak.
I quietly said, “Girls, if you could help me with the bills, I could afford the medicine I need…”
The eldest didn’t even let me finish—she said they already had too many expenses, everything was so expensive, and money wasn’t enough. The youngest… said nothing, as if she hadn’t heard. After that, only silence. No calls, no visits.
I was left alone in my apartment, surrounded by photographs, the little crafts the kids made, the woolen shoes I had knitted for my grandchildren. None of them came anymore. No one asked how I was. No one cared if I was still alive. And yet, once upon a time, I was everything to them. I made their meals, ironed their clothes, rocked their cradles at night. I taught them to speak, to read, I woke up at the first cry.
Now, I sit by the window, watching unfamiliar grandmothers walk down the street with their grandchildren. They laugh, holding hands. And I only have silence. And bitterness. Because I don’t understand—what did I do to deserve this? When did I stop being useful? Do children really forget so quickly everything that was done for them?
I don’t ask for much. I don’t want their money or gifts. I just want a little warmth, a few words, a call every now and then. I wish they’d ask me, “Mom, how are you?” That the grandchildren would stop by, even just to sit next to me for a while. But it seems like that’s a luxury that’s no longer mine to ask for.
Every day that passes, it’s harder to believe they will remember me. But I keep waiting. Because a mother’s heart never stops waiting. Even if it hurts. Even if it’s unfair. Even if it feels like betrayal.