З життя
Повернення додому, де ніхто тебе не чекає…
Вияви собі повернення до отчого дому, а тебе там ніхто не чекає…
Я ніколи не уявляв, що мені, чоловіку майже 50 років, техніку до мозку кісток, досить мовчазному і, навіть, за словами дружини, дещо тупому, доведеться сидіти перед комп’ютером, щоб писати листа, а не працювати. 16 років тому я поїхав працювати за кордон, швидко облаштувався і забрав із собою родину.
Невдовзі після цього мій батько помер, і матір залишилась сама.
Вона ніколи не скаржилася, не дорікала мені, не натякала, що нікому про неї дбати, хоча я її єдиний син. Ми часто розмовляли по телефону, і вона завжди запевняла мене, що в неї все добре, що їй нічого не бракує.
Питання: «Ви скоро приїдете?» означало, що їй насправді сумно і дуже самотньо.
Рука на серці, я можу сказати, що дбав про неї: я думав про неї, я не полишив її, не забув ні на хвилину. Мій найбільший гріх у тому, що я не стримав своєї обіцянки.
Щороку в серпні я повертався до України, коли вся компанія йшла у відпустку, і це був час для нас.
Отчий дім
Повернення до рідного дому
Ми відвідували друзів і рідних, їздили в місця, що нагадували їй про молодість із батьком, а коли вона відчула роки, я водив її до лікарів і санаторіїв.
Разом ми ходили в кіно, гуляли, запрошували гостей. Вона балувала мене стравами та солодощами, які я любив із дитинства.
Вона завжди проводжала мене до входу в кооператив і не їхала в аеропорт, аби я не бачив її сліз.
Я постійно обіцяв їй, що цього разу докладу всіх зусиль, щоб повернутися додому на Різдво чи Великдень, щонайпізніше, до наступного серпня. І отут я не стримав обіцянки, і відчуваю жахливу провину.
Так, я повернувся додому на початку грудня минулого року, але не для того, щоб обійняти маму, не відчути запах її знаменитого пирога з корицею, не привітати мене гарячим глінтвейном і горіхами, а щоб попрощатися з нею востаннє.
Я не витримував себе від болю і розчарування.
Моїм єдиним втішенням було те, що моя мама відійшла спокійно, без мук, уві сні, як праведниця.
Але це не зменшило тягар у моєму серці, не заспокоїло сумління, не вгамувало відчуття самотності.
Цього разу я повернувся в серпні, як завжди.
Проте коли став перед зачиненими дверима, відчув, як розпач стискає мене в обіймах. Я не почув кроків у коридорі, не відчув запаху печених перців чи смажених слив…
Здалося, що стеля ось-ось обвалиться на мене.
Знадобилося кілька днів, щоб торкнутися речей матері, але я так і не наважився викинути навіть газети, які вона зберігала.
Хочу сказати синам, які живуть далеко від своїх батьків: повертайтеся частіше, як важко це не було б, дотримуйте своїх обіцянок.
Адже настає день, коли у нас є і час, і можливість, але немає найважливішого — близької людини, яка чекає на нас.
Повірте, немає страшнішого випробування, ніж зустріти зачинені двері рідного дому.
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