З життя
«Вихід на пенсію: коли роки самотності стають очевидними»
Отак я вийшла на пенсію — і почалися проблеми. Мені шістдесят. І вперше в житті я відчуваю, що мене ніби більше немає — ні для дітей, ні для онуків, ні для колишнього чоловіка, навіть для світу. Я є. Існую. Ходжу до аптеки, купую хліб, підмітаю подвір’я під вікном. Але всередині — пустота, яка з кожним ранком стає все глибшою. Особливо коли не треба поспішати на роботу. Коли ніхто не подзвонить, щоб просто запитати: «Мамо, як ти?»
Я живу сама. Вже багато років. Мої діти — дорослі, у них свої родини, живуть у інших містах: син у Львові, донька у Дніпрі. Онуки ростуть, а я їх майже не знаю. Не бачу, як вони йдуть до школи, не в’яжу їм шарфики, не розповідаю казки на ніч. Мене жодного разу не запросили до них у гості. Жодного.
Якось спитала у доньки:
— Чому ти не хочеш, щоб я приїхала? Я б допомогла з дітьми…
А вона відповіла спокійно, але холодно:
— Мам, ну ти ж знаєш… Мій чоловік тебе не любить. Ти завжди втручаєшся, і в тебе свій спосіб спілкування…
Я змовкла. Мене опанував сором, образа, біль. Я ж не напрошувалася, просто хотіла побути поруч. А у відповідь — «не любить». Ні онуки, ні діти. Мене ніби викреслили. Навіть колишній чоловік, який живе в сусідньому селі, не знаходить часу на зустріч. Раз на рік — коротке привітання зі святом. Ніби робить мені послугу.
Коли пішла на пенсію, думала: ось воно, нарешті час для себе. Почну вишивати, буду ранками гуляти, запишуся на курси малювання, про які мріяла. Та натомість прийшла не радість, а тривога.
Спочатку почали мучити дивні напади: то серце, то запаморочення, то раптовий страх за життя. Ходила по лікарях, здавала аналізи, робила ЕКГ, МРТ — усе гаразд. Один лікар сказав:
— У вас це все через голову. Треба з кимось говорити, спілкуватися. Ви ж просто сама.
І це було гірше за будь-який діагноз. Бо немає такої пігулки, яка б вилікувала самотність.
Буває, йду до магазину просто, щоб почути голос касира. Іноді сиджу на лавочці біля під’їзду й уявляю, що читаю — аби хтось підійшов. Та всі поспішають. Усі кудись біжать. А я — просто є. Сиджу, дихаю, згадую…
Що я зробила не так? Чому мої рідні від мене відвернулися? Я ж ростила їх сама. Батько пішов рано. Тягла двох дітей, працювала у дві зміни, варила борщі, прасувала шкільну форму, сиділа вночі, коли вони хворіли. Не пила, не гуляла. Усе для них. А тепер — я непотрібна.
Може, я була занадто суворою? Може, перестаралася з контролем? Але ж я хотіла якнайкраще. Щоб вони виросли гідними людьми. Не пускала їх у погані компанії, не дала зіпсувати життя. А в результаті — я залишилася одна.
Я не шукаю жалю. Просто хочеться зрозуміти: я й справді погана мати? Чи може, це все через час — коли у кожного свої клопоти, кредити, школи, гуртки… і немає місця для мами?
Мені інші кажуть: «Знайди чоловіка. Зареєструйся в інтернеті». Та я не можу. Не довіряю. Стільки років сама. Вже немає сил знову відкриватися, закохуватися, впускати в будинок чужу людину. Та й здоров’я вже не те.
Працювати теж не можу. Колись хоча б колектив рятував — побалакаєш, пожартуєш. А зараз — тиша. Така гнітюча, що я вмикаю телевізор, аби хоч чийсь голос лунав.
Буває, думаю: може, я просто зникну — і ніхто навіть не помітить? Ані діти, ані колишній, ані сусідка з третього поверху. І стає страшно. До сліз.
А потім я встаю, йду на кухню, заварюю чай. І думаю: може, завтра буде краще. Може, хтось згадає. Подзвонить. Напише. Може, я ще комусь потрібна.
Поки є надія — є і я.
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