З життя
Від тягаря до натхнення: як переїзд матері змінив усе життя
Коли я забрав до себе літню матір, гадав, що буде клопітно. Та її переїзд назавжди змінив моє життя.
Інколи доля різко змінює курс, наче вітер у степу, і ти не встигаєш зрозуміти, як опинився в новій реальності. Я завжди вважав себе самодостатнім. Жив один у Києві, робота — стабільна, друзі — на вихідні, хобі — по вечорах, квартира — затишна. Мати з батьком мешкали в селі під Житомиром, господарювали, жили спокійним ритмом. Навідувався до них раз на місяць, привозив солодощі, допомагав із дрібницями. Усе було, як кажуть, «як по маслу».
Але одного дня та «масляна дорога» обірвалася — пішов батько. Інсульт, один день — і все. Поховали його, і я раптом побачив матір зовсім іншою — не тією міцною жінкою, яку знав, а крихкою, збентеженою, наче вона втратила півсвіту. Вона сиділа біля вікна у вицвілому хустці й мовчала. Ні сліз, ні скарг — лише тиша, немов світ для неї зупинився.
Я залишився у неї на кілька днів. Тоді й зрозумів: вона не впорається. Дім здавався порожнім, немов після великої зливи. Вперше побачив, як матір боїться ночі, як здригається від кожного шелесту. А потім вона раптом прошепотіла:
— Може, залишишся ще на деньок?
Я залишився. Потім — ще на день. І в якийсь момент у мені щось перемкнуло: не можу її тут покинути. Так я ухвалив рішення — забрати її до себе. Важко? Так. Та страшніше — залишити саму.
Зібрали речі. Вона взяла мало: дві спідниці, білизну, ліки й… ту стару подушку з вишитими півнями, яку я подарував їй років десять тому. Купив тоді на ярмарку в Яремче, а вона берегла її, як святиню. Ця подушка тепер стала її «оберігом».
Перші дні в місті стали для неї випробуванням. Все чуже, галасливе, тісне. Вона тихо сиділа у кімнаті, перегортала старий молитовник, слухала радіо «Промінь» і рідко виходила. Готувала лише собі, через що я спершу сердився, а потім зрозумів — їй потрібен час.
Через два тижні почалися зміни. Вона почала зустрічати мене з роботи. Виходила в коридор, усміхалася, розпитувала про день. Я вперше за роки відчув, що я — потрібен. У дитинстві було інакше — вона піклувалася про мене, а тепер все перевернулося.
Почали готувати вечері разом. Я мив овочі, вона нарізала. Іногда розповідала історії з молодості, іноді мовчала, і в тій мовчанці було більше тепла, ніж у словах. Я ловив себе на тому, що знову відчуваю той затишок, якого не вистачало. Як у дитинстві, коли вона прасувала сорочки й пахло варениками.
Думав, що втомлюся: робота, побут, турботи. Та замість втоми прийшло відчуття повноти. Сенс. Я більше не залишався на роботі понаднормово. Не витрачав вихідні на порожні серіали. Усе змінилося. Я відчував себе вдома. Бо тепер дім — це вона.
Звичайно, були суперечки — про ліки, про те, що вона намагалася «не заважати» та все робити сама. Бувало, нервував. Та все це — дрібниці поруч із тим, що я набув. Я знову відчув любов. Без умов, без питань. Їй не цікаво, скільки я заробляю. Вона просто була поруч. І цього вистачало.
Іноді думаю — скільки нам залишилось? П’ять років? Десять? Але я знаю: кожен вечір, коли чую, як на кухні дзвенить чайник і мати кличе на вечерю, — це маленьке щастя. Мій подарунок від долі. Матір, яка, навіть сивіючи, залишається для мене сонцем.
Якби хтось тоді, коли я вагав
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