I am seventy.
From my first marriage, I have three children. When I divorced their mother, I made the gravest mistake of my life: I severed all ties, not only with her, but with my children as well. I turned my back on the city we lived in, moved to another, kept working, continued living as though nothing had happened. They became shadows behind me, not because I couldnt help, but because I chose not to be involved. I convinced myself that time and distance would smooth over the pain, that things would somehow mend themselves.
Years later, I met someone else, and with her, had another child. For this child, I did everything I had failed to do before. I gave him my hours, my care, my attentionsplashed out on him both pounds and presence. I stood by him at every step, sent him to good schools, bought not only what he needed but a host of unnecessary comforts as well. I felt the part of the good father, though in truth I was only trying to pay off my guilt, brick by brick.
Meanwhile, my elder children grew up without me. They learned for themselves, scrimped by on scholarships and hard work, finishing at reputable universities. They never asked me for a penny. Now and again, we would speak, but so rarely, sometimes a whole year would blur by in silence. When they married, I received invitations to their weddings, but didnt attend a single onethere was always some excuse: work, distance, not enough time.
When my youngest went off to university, I enrolled him in a private one, studying dentistry. I covered every fee, every tool, his travel and his flat. Eventually, after delays and struggles, he finished. I was proud, finally believing I had been a proper father, if only this once.
But thats when the pressure began. My wife and son started urging me to transfer all my property to his name. I owned three houses. They said it would prevent trouble later, that if I didnt, my other children would turn up just to squabble over the inheritance. They convinced me. I changed the deedseverything went to my youngest. I thought I was preserving peace.
Then I fell seriously ill, but somehow recovered. And right then, everything changed. My wife left me, turning me out of my own home. My son grew distant. My sister was the one who took me in. Whenever I needed something from him, there was always a reason why he couldnt help.
In the hollow of that quiet, I saw all too clearly what I had done.
Id lost my elder children by casting them aside.
And my youngest, I had spoilt until, when I ceased being of use, he cast me aside, too.
Today, none of my children are by my side. My older ones never ring. My youngest lives comfortably with my former houses in his name. I have nothing leftonly my memories, and a guilt that will not let me go.
What am I to do?
