З життя
Як полюбити свого онука: подорож до тепла в серці
Мене звати Ганна Іванівна, мені шістдесят два роки, і я хочу розповісти те, що, здавалося, не може існувати. Те, що досі тримає мене в напрузі. Те, що я приховую в собі, боячись осуду, страху втратити зв’язок з донькою та… сорому за саму себе.
Моя єдина донька Олеся вже п’ять років живе в Польщі. Вона переїхала туди на навчання, а потім зустріла свого майбутнього чоловіка — поляка, з яким незабаром одружилась. Я, на жаль, не змогла потрапити на весілля — були проблеми зі здоров’ям, складності з візою, та й фінансово було нелегко. Ми довго чекали зустрічі, але навіть коли в Олесі народився син, мій онук, приїхати відразу не вийшло — папери, карантини, тисячі кілометрів…
Онука, Ярослава (у їх сім’ї його звуть Ярко), я побачила лише через два роки після його народження. Уявіть: перший онук, довгоочікуваний, рідний! Я стільки разів уявляла цю зустріч — як притисну його до себе, як сльози радості покотяться по щоках, як він цікаво торкатиметься моїх сивих кіс, а я сміятимусь і гладитиму його маленьке волосся…
Але реальність виявилась зовсім іншою. З першої миті, коли я обняла онука, усередині була лише розгубленість. Холод. Порожнеча. Він простягав до мене ручки, як до знайомої тітки, але в моєму серці не з’явилось ні тепла, ні ніжності, ні тієї любові, про яку стільки пишуть. Я намагалася з усіх сил — посміхалась, грала, пекла вареники. Але все це було механічно, без щирості, без внутрішнього відгуку. Я відчувала, ніби граю чиюсь роль у чужій виставі.
«Це пройде», — втішала я себе. «Він же ще зовсім малюк, просто потрібно більше часу». Але дні йшли, а нічого не мінялося. Я залишалася холодною й розгубленою. Іноді ловила себе на страшній думці: якби це була дитина сусідки, я б поводилася так само. Невже я така жорстока? Що зі мною не так?
Коли донька з чоловіком та сином поїхали назад до Польщі, я відчула… полегшення. І одразу ж — найдикішу провину. Як так? Це ж мій онук! Плід любові моєї Олесі. Хіба я маю право так відчувати? Адже я мріяла стати бабусею, вив’язувала панчішки ще до його народження, уявляла, як псуватиму його, читатиму казки, водитиму за ручку до парку…
А зараз я не знаю, як жити з цим відчуттям пустоти. Я не наважуюся розповісти про це Олесі — вона точно не зрозуміє. Для неї це буде зрада. Та й як таке сказати? Що я не люблю її сина, свого онука? Просто не відчуваю з ним зв’язку. Ніби ми з різних світів, а нитка між нами десь порвалася, навіть не встигнувши зав’язатися.
Ось днями вона подзвонила й сказала, що на свята вони знову приїдуть. Голос був радісний, вона просила придумати, куди підемо гуляти, розповідала, що Ярослав уже трохи говорить українською і читатиме мені віршики… А я лише кА я лише кивала та відчувала, як десь у темряві мого серця ще дрижить крихта надії, немов останній вогник у засніженому полі.
Why Does It Matter Who Looked After Gran? By Law, That Flat Should Be Mine! — My Mum Argues With Me Over My Grandmother’s Home My Own Mother is Threatening to Sue Me — All Because My Gran’s Flat Went Not to Her, or Even to Me, But to My Daughter. Mum Claims It’s Unfair, Insists the Flat Should Be Hers. But Gran Made a Different Choice. Why? Perhaps Because My Husband and I Lived With Her and Cared for Her Those Last Five Years. You Could Easily Call My Mum Selfish — Her Needs Were Always Far More Important Than Anyone Else’s. Mum’s Been Married Three Times, But Only Had Two Daughters: My Younger Sister and Me. We Get On Brilliantly, But Neither of Us Has a Great Relationship With Mum. I Don’t Even Remember My Dad — He Split From Mum When I Was Two. Up Until I Was Six, I Lived With Mum at Gran’s. For Some Reason, I Thought Gran Was Awful — Probably Because Mum Was Always Crying. Only When I Grew Up Did I Understand: Gran Was Good, She Just Wanted to Help Her Daughter Make a Better Life. Later, Mum Married Again and We All Moved In With My Stepfather. That’s When My Sister Was Born. But After Seven Years, Mum Got Divorced Again. This Time, We Didn’t Go Back to Gran’s. Stepfather Went Off to Work and Let Us Stay in His Flat for a Bit. Three Years Later, Mum Married Husband Number Three and We Moved In With Him. He Wasn’t Pleased Mum Had Children, Though He Never Hurt Us — He Just Ignored Us. So Did Mum. She Was Obsessed With Her New Husband, Always Jealous, Always Causing Rows and Breaking Crockery. Once a Month Mum Would Start Packing, But Stepfather Always Talked Her Round. My Sister and I Got Used to It and Stopped Noticing. I Ended Up Looking After My Sister — Mum Didn’t Have the Time. Thank Goodness for Our Grandmothers, Who Helped Us So Much. Eventually, I Left for University, and My Sister Moved In With Gran. Our Dad Always Supported Her; Mum Would Call Us Only at Christmas. I Accepted Mum For Who She Was and Stopped Expecting Her to Care, But My Sister Never Did. She Was Always Hurt, Especially When Mum Skipped Her School Leavers’ Party. We Grew Up. My Sister Got Married and Moved Away. I Was Living With My Long-Term Boyfriend; We Visited Gran Often and Stayed Close, Though I Tried Not to Be a Nuisance. When Gran Fell Ill and Went Into Hospital, I Visited Every Day: Shopping, Cooking, Cleaning, Chatting, Making Sure She Took Her Medicine. Sometimes My Boyfriend Helped Out Too. After Six Months, Gran Suggested We Move In to Save for Our Own Place, So We Did. Six Months Later, I Was Pregnant. We Got Married, Had a Simple Family Do — Mum Didn’t Come, Not Even a Phone Call. When My Daughter Was Two Months Old, Gran Broke Her Leg. Caring for Both Was Hard and I Desperately Needed Mum’s Help, But She Refused, Saying She Wasn’t Well and Would Come Later. She Never Did. Six Months On, Gran Had a Stroke and Was Bedridden. If Not for My Husband, I Don’t Know How I’d Have Coped. Gran Slowly Improved, She Even Got to See Her Great-Granddaughter Take Her First Steps, and Lived Another Two-and-a-Half Years. She Passed Away Peacefully in Her Sleep. My Husband and I Were Devastated By Her Loss. Mum Only Came for the Funeral. A Month Later, She Tried to Evict Me So She Could Have the Flat. Mum Hadn’t Realised Gran Had Left It to My Daughter Right After She Was Born. Naturally Mum Was Furious, Demanding I Give Up the Flat or She’d Sue Me. “Look How Deceitful You Are! You Duped the Old Woman, Took Her Flat, And Now You Live In It Yourself! You Won’t Get Away With This! It Doesn’t Matter Who Looked After Gran — That Flat Should Be Mine!” But Mum Won’t Get That Flat, I Know That for Certain. I’ve Spoken to a Solicitor and a Notary. We’ll Stay in the Home Gran Gave Us, and If Our Second Child Is a Girl, She’ll Be Named After Gran.
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