My mother abandoned me and my father when I was a baby, so I always blamed her absence for the ups and downs in my life. But when mom did come back, I was older, and I was astounded to learn the startling reason behind her departure! This tragic story taught me that sometimes it’s best to let go of grudges.
My world turned upside down on my eighteenth birthday—it wasn’t a profound epiphany or a coming-of-age experience—it was a parcel. A plain, unassuming package that contained the weight of a past I had assumed I had moved on from.
It came from Laurie, a lady who had only ever existed in my life as a shadow—she had abandoned my dad, Ralph, and me when I was only nine months old. To me, she was less of a mother and more of a stranger.
You know, when my parents had me, they were both eighteen years old. Our little town was minuscule compared to Laurie’s world of luxury and dreams. Dreams, I thought, that excluded a baby who may weigh her down or a young man who wasn’t from her world.
She left her family behind because she believed they stood in the way of her dreams of becoming a well-known writer. My dad and I were the only ones at home when I was a child, with some help from my paternal grandparents.
It was a difficult period despite their love and sacrifice. In an attempt to support us, Dad took on debt, a burden he carried with a quiet fortitude that I only realized how important it was as I grew older. Even though my maternal grandparents periodically donated money, it was obvious that we did not live in their world.
To me, my father was everything, and he made sure that we had a good life. Then all of a sudden Laurie was back. Standing on our porch were her, the ghost of my past, her eyes full of what I thought were tears of regret.
She trembled as she spoke to me and my dad, saying, “I’ve missed you both so much. I truly apologize for everything. All I want is for us to have another opportunity to be a family.” She attempted to beg for pardon and give an explanation of her actions, saying:
“I was young; my parents insisted, I didn’t want to leave you, Jane!”
A man of few words, my dad just shook his head, his body language more powerful than any words of rejection. I stood by him in silence, feeling a complicated knot of resentment, perplexity, and, deep down, a strong need to know why.
Laurie persisted despite our lack of enthusiasm. She tried calling, writing, offering explanations that were met with silence. However, her insistence just made our differences stronger.
She once exclaimed, “You don’t understand the guilt I’ve lived with,” after an especially heated phone call.
Another voice message from her added, “Staying away from you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” but neither my father nor I were prepared to listen to her. The box addressed to me then arrived. It arrived, unopened and collecting dust, a mute tribute to the distance between us, a week after her last attempt to heal the rift between us.
One day, my father—always the news bearer—came home with an incomprehensible face. “She’s gone,” was all he said. “Did not recover from her ailment. It’s time to crack open that parcel.”
Laurie was a stranger to me, so I wasn’t sure how to respond, but when I heard she was leaving, my heart fell into a million pieces.
I remarked to my latter mother’s spirit, “I didn’t get to know you when you were alive, but maybe this box will give me some direction into who you are,” and at last I opened the parcel. What I witnessed ultimately explained Laurie’s intense efforts to make apologies.
There was a stack of papers and a book—a novel, to be exact—inside. The cover showed a little child against a big starry sky—a sight that seemed both eerily familiar and alien. It was a story written by the woman who had brought me into the world but who opted not to share it, thus it was more of a story for me.
I read her words, her story of a life ripped apart by decisions and events beyond her control, through teary eyes. I regret not let her in when she knocked on our door because of what actually transpired all those years ago, as her letter stated:
“My daughter, my love…
I understand that this will never make up for why I left, but it wasn’t because I felt like you were a burden or that your father wasn’t a real man. My family had pushed me toward a life I never wanted but felt unable to reject because of their wealth and expectations.
I felt under pressure to be with someone else because of my parents’ authority and influence, as well as the fact that I was still a child at the time. A man of considerable prestige and importance, someone they believed worthy of the family and me.
I didn’t realize at the time that they were acting in my best interests because I was still a little child and couldn’t make the best choices for myself. When I was a little older, I gave in to what they wanted and got married to the new man.
He was a powerful individual, therefore he assisted me in discovering my writing voice.”
Turning the pages and reading her regrets, dreams, and unmet wishes, I became aware of how much weight was in my hands. It was more than just a letter and a book; it was an opportunity to view the woman who had given me life with empathy and compassion after years of quiet and miscommunication.
My mother’s way of apologizing for the suffering and sacrifice she had to make to escape was to write the novel! There were legal documentation with the book that gave me ownership of all rights and royalties. It was the last thing she gave me, her legacy, to take with me.
My mother’s and my story went on to become a best-seller, winning over many people with its message of forgiveness and restoration. It gave me access to money from a specific account, which gave me financial security, but it also gave me a connection to my mother that I had believed I would always lose.
“This is from my heart to yours, and it’s not much. Although I’m sure it won’t make up for all the years I’ve missed and will continue to miss, I hope it will improve the lives of both you and your father. I want you both to know one more thing: I adore you and I always will.
From your devoted mother, a woman who wished she had seen the light sooner,
Laurie.”
Ultimately, the parcel my mom gave me unlocked the door to comprehension, recovery, and—above all—forgiveness, in addition to disclosing the painful reality of her departure. And even though she wasn’t present to witness it, I like to think that somehow, knowing that she had ultimately found a way to return to me—even if it was only through book pages—brought her comfort.
This story ought to have you clenching your teeth if Jane’s tale moved you all and made you think about closing those gaps with loved ones. When a long-absent mother attempted to sabotage her daughter’s wedding, she ultimately became the permanent outcast!