**Diary Entry**
Im sixty. For the first time in my life, I feel as though I no longer existnot to my children, my grandchildren, my ex-husband, or even the world. Yet here I am. Im alive. I go to the chemist, buy bread, sweep the little courtyard beneath my window. But inside, theres emptiness, growing heavier each morning when I no longer have to rush to work. When no one calls to ask, Mum, are you all right?
Ive lived alone for years. My children are grown, with families of their own, settled in other citiesmy son in Manchester, my daughter in Brighton. My grandchildren are growing up, and I barely know them. I dont see them off to school, I dont knit them scarves anymore, I dont tell them bedtime stories. Ive never once been invited to their homes. Never.
One day, I asked my daughter:
Why dont you want me to visit? I could help with the children
She answered calmly but coldly:
Mum, you know why My husband doesnt like you. Youre always interfering, and you have your own way of doing things
I said nothing. I felt ashamed. It hurt. I wasnt imposingI just wanted to be near them. And in return? He doesnt like you. Not the grandchildren, not my children. As if Ive been erased. Even my ex-husband, who lives in the next village, never finds time to see me. Once a year, a brief text for a birthday. Like a favour.
When I retired, I thought: at last, time for myself. Ill knit, take morning walks, finally try those painting classes Id always dreamed of. But instead of happiness, anxiety settled in.
First came strange episodesmy heart racing, dizziness, sudden fear of dying. I saw doctors, had tests, MRIs, ECGs. Nothing. One doctor said:
Its in your head. You need to talk to someone, see people. Youre alone.
That was worse than a diagnosis. Because theres no medicine for loneliness.
Sometimes, I go to the supermarket just to hear the cashiers voice. Other times, I sit on the bench outside my building pretending to read, hoping someone will talk to me. But people are in a hurry. Everyones rushing. And Im just here. Breathing. Remembering.
What did I do wrong? Why has my family turned away? I raised them alone. Their father left early. I worked day and night, cooked, ironed their school uniforms, stayed up when they were ill. No drinking, no parties. Everything for them. And now, Im of no use.
Maybe I was too strict? Too controlling? But I only wanted what was bestfor them to be good, responsible people. I shielded them from bad influences, from mistakes. And now here I am. Alone.
Im not asking for pity. Just to understand: was I such a bad mother? Or is it just this age, where everyone has their own worriesmortgages, school runs, activitiesand no room left for their mum?
People sometimes say, Find a man. Try dating sites. But I cant. I dont trust anymore. So many years alone. I havent the strength to open up, to fall in love, to let a stranger into my home. And my health isnt what it was.
I cant work now. Before, there were colleagueswed chat, laugh. Now, its silence. So heavy that I turn on the telly just to hear a voice.
Sometimes I wonder: if I disappeared, would anyone notice? My children? My ex? The neighbour upstairs? It terrifies me. Enough to make me cry.
But then I get up, go to the kitchen, make myself a cup of tea. I think: maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe someone will think of me. Call. Text. Maybe I still matter to someone.
As long as theres a little hope left, Im still alive.
