When I Was 24, I Made the Hardest Decision of My Life: Leaving My Two Daughters with My Mum—My Eldest Was Five, and My Youngest Just Three

When I was 24, I made the most agonising decision of my life: I left my two daughters with my mum. The eldest was five, the youngest only three. I was working twelve-hour days, no one to look after them, pockets emptier than a Monday morning biscuit tin, and their father had done a runner. I hadnt the faintest clue how I was supposed to get by. Mum told me shed watch them until I got on my feet, and, young, terrified, and completely out of my depth, I agreed, convincing myself it would only be for a few months. But, as it goes, a few months turned into a few years.

At the start, Id visit every weekend, rain or shine. They were still little and couldnt wrap their heads around why I didnt live in the same house. Each visit was a lovely pick n mix of hugs and questions I couldnt answer without crumbling:
Why dont you stay?
Why do you sleep somewhere else?
When are you coming back?

Mum would soothe them, telling them, Shes got a lot on at work, but the truth was, I watched as they gradually started calling her Mummy without even realising.

By the time the eldest was eight, and the youngest six, they barely looked for me the way they used to. Theyd give me a half-hearted hug before dashing off to my mum. Id stand there, feeling more like a guest at their lives than their mum. One afternoon, the youngest tripped and fell while playing. When I tried to scoop her up, she yanked her hand back and cried, I want my mummy!meaning, of course, my own mum. That moment, I knew something had snapped beyond repair.

Years rolled by. I tried every trick in the book to win them backclothes, presents, sweets, outings, anything I could muster. But each time I turned up, theyd give me a quick Hi, then carry on playing as if Id just popped by to drop off the groceries. Mum, with nothing but good intentions, made all the proper decisionsschool, jabs, chores, permissions. I was the one bringing goodies but not the one who truly mattered.

They grew up seeing me as the aunt who brings stuff, not the woman whod brought them into the world.

When they started school, it got even grimmer. At parents evenings, the teachers would only talk to my mum. To me, it was, So, are you the auntie? My daughters never corrected them.

Once, I tried to sign a slip for a school trip, and my eldest whispered,
No, you cant. Mummy has to do it.

That day, I sneaked off to the school loos and had a quiet sob, silently begging the taps not to rat me out.

When they were older, I tried to explain why I hadnt been around. I told them how Id managed, what Id scraped through, all about the uphill battle that was survival. They listened politely, said nothing, and that was that.

My eldest told me she wasnt sure if she ought to thank me or never forgive me because she didnt feel anything anymore.

The youngest was blunt as you like:
You werent there. I cant invent a feeling that never existed.

Now Im 61. My daughters talk to me, come round for holidays, sometimes even give me a hugbut not once do they call me Mum. Im in their lives, but never in the place that shouldve been mine.

And even though Ive realised I cant turn back the clock, it still aches. It aches to see their lives have moved on without me.