My mother gave me away like I was nothing, putting me aside to raise her “perfect son.” However, life has a way of balancing things, and after years, the woman who abandoned me—the mother who erased me from her life—came knocking at my door, desperate and pleading. My mother decided I was a burden when I was ten years old. She had a new family and a picture-perfect life she wanted to build, and I didn’t fit the picture.
You come to the realization that some wounds never fully heal at certain points in your life. That moment for me occurred when I was thirty-two years old and standing at my grandmother’s grave with my black dress soaking wet from the rain. The woman who had given birth to me was standing across the graveyard, and the one person who had ever truly loved me was no longer there.
She didn’t even turn to face me.
It had been years since I last saw my mother. Not since the day mother determined that I wasn’t worthy of being raised, but my younger brother Jason was.
I didn’t blink away the rain that made my eyesight blurry. Rather, I concentrated on the new pile of earth that covered my Grandma Brooke, the woman who had been my real mother.
She had been everything to me—my savior and protector. And now that she was gone, I had an empty heart that nothing could ever fill.
My mother, Pamela, was standing under an umbrella with her golden child, Jason, between her and her husband, Charlie. They appeared to be the ideal small family.
Apart from the fact that she had discarded her daughter, who was her firstborn child.
Every now and then she dabbed at her eyes, but I knew better. It was merely a performance for her audience; there were no actual tears. She turned and left without saying anything to me after the funeral, just like she had done when I was a youngster 22 years prior.
I remained motionless, gazing at the tomb.
I whispered, “I don’t know how to do this without you, Grandma.” My mother had never really wanted me; I was a bother and a reminder of a past she didn’t want to face. Then, when I was ten, she married Charlie and had their ideal son, Jason, and all of a sudden, I was nothing. I recall the day she told me that I wouldn’t be living with her any longer. “Rebecca, come here,” she called from the kitchen table, where she sat with Grandma Brooke. I entered the room with a glimmer of hope in my chest; perhaps, just possibly, she wanted to speak to me—to have me back in her life. However, the words that came out of her mouth broke me.
“You’re going to live with Grandma now.” I blinked. “Like… for the weekend?” “No,” she said, not even looking at me. “Permanently. Grandma’s going to take care of you from now on.” I turned to my grandmother, looking for an explanation in her tight, sorrowful, angry face. “But why?” I asked. “Did I do something wrong?” “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” “I have a real family now. You’re just… in the way.” That’s when my heart broke. Grandma slammed her hand on the table. “Enough, Pamela! She’s a child, for God’s sake. Your child.
My mother simply shrugged and said, “A mistake I’ve paid for long enough. Either you take her, or I’ll find someone who will.” That was how easily she let me go. Grandma took me into her arms and whispered, “Pack your things, sweetheart. We’ll make this work. I promise.” And she did. Grandma’s house became my haven; it was small, cozy, and full of love; she helped me with my homework, tucked me in every night, hung my drawings on the fridge, and helped me with my homework. Despite her affection, I couldn’t help but wonder why my mother didn’t want me.
Grandma sighed as she brushed my hair one night before bed. “Oh, Becca. Some people aren’t capable of the love they should give. It’s not your fault, honey. Never think it’s your fault.” “But she loves Jason,” I whispered. “Your mother is broken in ways I couldn’t fix. She’s always run from her mistakes instead of facing them.” “So I’m a mistake?” I could hardly hear myself. Grandma turned me toward her, gently cupping my face. “No, honey. You are a gift. The best thing that ever happened to me. Your mother just can’t see past her own selfishness to recognize what she’s throwing away.”
Years went by, and I grew up, attended college on scholarships, and established a life of my own. Grandma was there for every significant event, including my graduation, first job, and first apartment, and she made sure I knew I belonged. However, time is cruel; she grew older and slower, and one day she was gone, and then my mother unexpectedly returned. A few days after the funeral, I heard a knock at my door, and when I opened it, I froze. It was her.
Pamela stood there looking older than I remembered, with more wrinkles around her mouth and gray running through her dark hair, but her eyes remained the same—calculating and distant. “Please,” she whispered, clutching her purse, “I just need to talk.” Her tone made me stop, but something in her voice made me pause. “Talk,” I said, crossing my arms, and she let out a sharp exhale. “Your brother knows about you.” I stiffened. “What do you mean?” “Your grandmother sent him a message before she passed.” I felt my breath catch.
“He was too young to remember you, Rebecca. And I… I never let your grandmother talk about you. I told her that if she did, she’d never see him again.” I felt a wave of cold rage wash over me. My mother had not simply left me; she had erased me. She must have noticed my expression because she hurried to explain, saying, “I thought I was doing the right thing! You had your grandmother, and I had my family—” “You had a family,” I said icily, “You decided I wasn’t part of it.” Her lips quivered. “Jason won’t speak to me. Ever since he found out the truth, he’s furious. He won’t return my calls. He thinks I’m a monster.”
Not a monster?” I concluded. “You left me at age ten, acted as though I didn’t exist, and threatened Grandma to keep your secret. If that doesn’t make you a monster, what does?” Tears filled her eyes, but they didn’t mean anything to me. I had shed enough tears for her years ago, but still, I hesitated—not for her, but for Jason, who was a baby when she cut me out of his life and never had the chance to know me. “I’ll take his number,” I said at last. Relief filled her face—until she understood that I wasn’t calling for her.
I explained, “You can give him my number. If he wants to talk to me, that’s his choice. And if he doesn’t want to talk to you… well, that’s his choice too.” “Rebecca, please—” “Goodbye, Mom,” I said, and slowly closed the door. A week later, Jason called me. We met, and I had my first real conversation with my brother, the one my mother had attempted to take away from me. When she returned to my door weeks later, I didn’t answer; she had made her decision 22 years ago, and I had made mine.