I was her caregiver but only as a volunteer and only in a volunteer's capacity.  There wasn't a lot I was allowed to do - I was mostly there for companionship.  I believe that made your mother trust me more and her trust helped to compensate for all I could not do.  I was there because I wanted to be and she knew it.  There was no money involved and she knew that I received little in the way of appreciation.  I continued to volunteer simply for the pleasure that her company -amongst others- brought me.  I was equally lonely, having never married and we needed each other.  At least, we both needed someone and we'd always considered the timing of our friendship to be nothing short of a miracle.

It would be absurd to think that your mother shared everything with me but how much more could there be?  Hers was such a tale of sadness and woe that I cannot imagine what else there is.

Now, I don't believe that you deserve this package of letters.  You most certainly do not deserve anything that your mother labored over so intensely and lovingly.  But she made me promise to send these letters to you as her last outpouring of love and I suppose, her last plea for compassion and understanding.  I'm convinced that it's a futile effort and a complete waste of my time and the last of your mother's energy.  For her, though, I would do anything, including putting my own angst and grief aside.
I beg of you not to burn or destroy these letters.  In memory of the woman who gave you life, please return them instead!

Your mother would not speak a word against you nor allow anyone else to.  So I held my tongue.  She was so very proud of her grandchildren that I didn't have the heart to tell her that I spent your one and only visit here picking up, cleaning up and paying up after your kids.  The broken lamps and picture frames were replaced quickly so she wouldn't know.  The only blessing to your whole visit was her smile and her lack of willingness to face the truth.  It saved us all from a harsh time, I suppose.  She never asked where her irreplaceable record collection went - whether she couldn't remember it or chose not to ruin what time she had left with negative talk.  I guess we'll never know.  Either way, it was painful to watch.  Her giving, you taking right to the very end.

During the years that I looked after your mother, she told me many stories about her family.  Her life was sad, her childhood deprived and she waited her entire life, it seemed, for the abuse and neglect to end.  She told me her stories in random sprints, falling silent afterwards for days.  At that point, I think that she always regretted her decision to 'share'.  Another month would go by and she'd be ready again.  She seemed happiest during that month - after she'd recuperated from the shame of divulging her secrets and before the need to do so again swept over her.

therockologist.com

When your mother was sick for years, you were abroad.  First you were abroad studying (partying!), then you were abroad romancing, travelling, generally living the high life.  Always at someone else's expense, never your own.  Oh, I know you finished journalism school, but the rest...   I'm so grateful that your mother didn't - refused to? - know about the rest.  You were her last hope that one of her children would turn out AND come home to her.  It took her years to save up enough to send you to school and the thought that you may not have made good with it might have been more than she could bare in her fragile state.

When you finally settled down with that nice Italian boy, your mother was so happy!  One of her children was married!  Not 'living in sin'!  And not divorced!  That was so important to her, old-fashioned or not, so I guess that in a way, I'm grateful to you for lying to her and not telling her about your breakup and subsequent divorce.  It would have destroyed what was left of her broken heart.  I just wish that lying wasn't such a big part of your life.

Thanks to the two kids that 'the wealthy one' (as you called him) gave you, you got a whole mess of money in the settlement, enough to set you up for years.  Enough to keep you 'gallivanting' (one of your mom's favorite words) all over the place.  Not that this gallivanting was anything new.  I'm pretty sure you were doing so during the marriage and as they say, the ink was barely dry on the divorce papers and you were at it again.  This time, more publicly.  Publicly enough that we kept the newspapers from your mom at the care center. 

It never occurred to you to share a penny with your unwealthy, unhealthy mother or to come home for more than one visit every 15 years.  Lots more travel and designer clothes, lots more men and lots more nannies.  Nannies to look after your kids, who will no doubt turn out exactly like their mother.