A Mother's Confession - Virtual Tales

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My daughter is now 27 years old. From an early age, I brought up virtue, dignity, modesty, and housekeeping in her. All the things that modern girls lack.

I never allowed my child to wear frivolous clothes, go to dubious places (discos, holiday camps, sleepovers at summer cottages and other obscenities), or watch stupid movies and videos that dull young people and impose depraved behavior on them. I don’t think my only daughter has anything to learn from silicone puppets who make their living from a known place rather than their talents and intelligence.

In short, I was very serious about raising my child. My daughter never understood me, but I hoped that as she grew older she would understand the problems I had saved her from. That her husband would be grateful to me for being a good hostess and a faithful companion, and that she herself would realize that fun and frivolous behavior would not do her any good. I had always been against her getting to know boys, because at first it was early, and then those boys were of dubious “quality” – apparently there was no one to raise them.

My daughter finished school with a gold medal and the university with almost a red diploma, without any bribes or retakes. She has a great job, friends, whom she does not introduce me to, but I no longer insist. She wanted to move into her own apartment, she has money, but my well-being does not allow me to live alone – I need care.

A week ago I saw her crying in the kitchen. I insisted that she tell me what happened. She shouted in anger that I had ruined her life and that there was and would never be anything bright in her life.

I was hurt to tears by such ingratitude. But now that I’ve thought about it a lot, I realize that in some ways she was right. That I had replaced her life with mine, wanted her not to make my mistakes. And she, so perfect, had no one and no time to live it with.

I really want to drink lots and lots of sleeping pills and never wake up again, to free my child from having to spend the rest of his best years with a sick tyrant mother. I even bought the pills, but I still can’t make up my mind. I’m afraid of sin and – honestly – I want to live. But a mother must be willing to sacrifice herself for her child, right?