Two years have slipped by without a single word from my daughter: she erased me from her life, and Im nearing seventy
In our block everyone knows my neighbor, ÉlodieFournier. Shes sixtyeight, lives alone, and every now and then I drop by with a few pastries for tea, just as neighbors do. Shes kind, an elegant woman who always wears a smile, fond of recounting the trips she took with her late husband. She rarely mentions her own family. Yet on the eve of the last celebrations, when I arrived with the usual sweets, she suddenly opened up. That night I heard a tale that still chills my heart.
When I stepped inside, Élodie was far from her usual self. Typically lively and full of energy, she sat that evening with a distant stare. I asked nothing, simply set the tea down, placed the biscuits, and sat quietly beside her. She lingered in silence, as if battling herself. Then, abruptly, she blurted out:
Two years she hasnt called me even once. No card, no message. I tried to reach her, but her number no longer exists. I dont even know where she lives now
She paused. It seemed as though years, even decades, flashed before her eyes. Then, as if a dam had burst, she began to speak.
We had a happy family. Charles and I married young, but we waited before having childrenwe wanted to live for ourselves first. His job let us travel a lot. We were close, laughed often, and loved the house we built together. With his own hands he created a spacious threeroom home in the heart of Lyon. It was the dream of his life
When our daughter Amélie was born, Charles seemed reborn. He would hold her, read her stories, spend every free moment with her. Watching them, I thought I was the happiest woman alive. Yet ten years ago Charles left us. He fought illness for a long time; we drained our savings trying to save him. Then silence. An emptiness, as if a piece of my heart had been ripped out.
After her fathers death, Amélie drifted away. She moved into an apartment, wanted to live on her own. I didnt protestshe was an adult and had to build her own life. She still visited, we talked, everything felt normal. But two years ago she came and announced she wanted to take out a mortgage to buy her own place.
I sighed and told her I couldnt help. The savings Charles and I had set aside were almost goneeverything had gone to his treatment. My pension barely covered the bills and my medication. She then suggested selling the apartment. We could buy you a studio in the suburbs, and the rest would be my downpayment.
I couldnt agree. It wasnt about money; it was about memory. Those walls, every cornerCharles had crafted them himself. All my joy, my whole life, lived there. How could I abandon it? She shouted that her father had done all that for her, that the apartment would eventually belong to her anyway, that I was selfish. I tried to tell her I only hoped she would one day come back and remember us but she wouldnt hear a word.
That day she slammed the door. Since then, silence. No call, no visit, not even at holidays. Later I learned from a mutual friend that she did get the loan and now exhausts herself with two jobs, a neverending race. No family, no children. Even her friend hasnt seen her in six months.
And I I wait. Every day I stare at the phone, hoping it will ring. Nothing. I cant even call hershe changed her number. She probably doesnt want to see me, or hear me. She must think I betrayed her by refusing that day. Soon Ill be seventy. I dont know how much longer I have left in this apartment, how many evenings Ill spend at the window hoping. I cant understand how I could have caused her so much pain.
Two Years of Silence from My Daughter: She Has Erased Me from Her Life as I Approach 70…
