He was from the next village over. An honest man. We had a simple wedding.
After the marriage, I split my energy in half. One half went to my own little family. The other half still went to my mother's house.
I thought things would slowly get better.
But five years later, my mother was suddenly paralyzed. She needed someone for everything—eating, drinking, bathing, using the bathroom.
Sylvester said he was too busy with work. Pat had just gotten married. Val said he needed to focus on his studies.
Nobody was willing to step up.
So I picked up the burden again, spending every day revolving around my mother. Feeding her. Bathing her. Turning her over. Emptying bedpans.
Day after day, without a single break.
I kept it up for two years before my husband finally couldn't take it anymore.
I filed for divorce and let him keep our son.
The year we divorced, Val graduated from college. He couldn't find a job he liked, so he insisted on studying for the civil service exam. He studied for three years. I supported him unconditionally for all three.
I'd poured half a lifetime of youth and sweat into that family.
I thought that even if I couldn't claim credit, at least my suffering counted for something.