З життя
Я мовчала, а вона стала чужою: як невістка відірвала мене від родини
Мене звати Соломія Михайлівна, мені шістдесят два роки, і вже не перший рік мене гризе думка, що я стала чужою для власного сина. А все через його дружину — мою невістку Дарію, яка робить усе, щоб викреслити мене з їхнього життя. І знаєте, що найболючіше? Я їй нічого поганого не зробила. Ані слова. Ані погляду. Ані докору. Лише добро, турботу і щире бажання стати рідною. Але у відповідь — мовчання. Холод. Зачинені двері.
Коли мій син Олесь повідомив, що збирається одружуватися, я, звісно, захотіла познайомитися з його обраницею. Завжди мріяла, що прийму дружину сина як рідну дочку — з любов’ю, повагою й теплом. Але Олесь тоді ніяково сказав:
— Мам, Даринка поки не готова знайомитися. Вона соромиться.
Я сприйняла це з розумінням. Ну буває, подумала. Може, дівчина сором’язлива. Та коли готувалися до весілля, я вже не витримала. Прямо сказала синові:
— То я що, твою дружину вперше побачу на весіллі? Це ж як? Я ж тобі не чужа тітка з вулиці!
Тоді Олесь, здебільшого, проте все ж таки умовив Дарину заїхати до мене. Я чекала. Хвилювалася. Приготувала смачний обід, накрила стіл, купила квіти — щоб якось розтанути. А у відповідь… Дарина просиділа мовчки. Ані посмішки, ані погляду, ані «дякую». За весь вечір вона, чесно, не вимовила й десяти слів. Ніби її силоміць привели. Я списала на стрес. Та серце вже стиснулося.
Після весілля вони оселилися окремо. Молодці — взяли іпотеку, купили двокімнатну. Я не лізла, не нав’язувалася. Живуть — і слава Богу. А потім, через півтора року, народився Ярослав. Моє сонечко, моя радість.
Я сподівалася, що з народженням дитини ми з Дариною станемо ближчими. Ну не може ж жінка, ставши матір’ю, бути такою холодною. Та стало ще гірше. Тепер, коли я дзвоню й кажу, що хочу заїхати, Дарина відповідає сухо:
— Нас не буде. Ми поїдемо.
А потім мені ж син каже, що вони весь день були вдома. І я розумію — мене просто не хочуть бачити.
Та я не здавалася. Купувала онукові іграшки, книжки, одяг. Привозила фрукти, домашні вареники, старалася підтримати, додати хоч трохи тепла. Адже у них іпотека, труднощі, Дарина у декреті… Та все даремно. Коли я приїжджаю, вона навіть не вітається по-людськи. Просто йде в іншу кімнату й зачиняє двері.
Я сиджу на кухні з сином і онуком. П’ємо чай, граємося, розмовляємо. А вона — ніби нас немає. Як так можна? Я ж до неї з добром! Ніколи не казала їй нічого образливого. Ані натяку на критику. Навпаки — завжди хвалила, допомагала, не лізла з порадами. То чому я для неї як чужа?
Може, вона боїться, що я втручатимусь? Та я ж не така! Я просто хотіла бути частиною їхньої родини, ділити радощі, підтримувати. Що в цьому поганого?
Я вже не знаю, як мені бути. Більше не хочеться їздити, але й онука не бачити — серце болить. Я люблю свого сина. Люблю його сім’ю. Та, мабуть, не всім потрібна моя любов…
І все ж, я не здаюся. Сподіваюся, що одного дня Дарина відчинить двері, вийде на кухню, сяде з нами за стіл і скаже: «Заходьте, мамо Соломіє. Ми вам раді». Лише б дочекатися…
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