I stood there, broom clutched tightly in my hands, frozen by the sight of my son, Matthew. He was staring at me with wide, shocked eyes in the middle of the furniture store where I work. I began walking toward him with a smile, but he turned and ran out. His reaction stung; Matthew had always been a mama’s boy, but I suppose children change as they grow older.
When my husband died ten years ago, Matthew and my daughter, Marina, suggested I sell our big family home. They wanted the money to start their businesses, so I moved into a tiny apartment. Their endeavors eventually took off, making them so busy they barely contacted me. Sadly, my retirement money wasn’t enough to live on, let alone buy Christmas presents for my grandchildren. So, at 65, I started working as a cleaner at the mall. I hadn’t told my children, fearing their reaction.
After that encounter, I called Matthew to explain. “I’m busy, Mother. Can I call you later?” he said sharply before hanging up. I tried Marina next, but she dismissed me just as quickly. Neither called back. Two days before Christmas, I sat with my neighbor, Lorena Atkinson, and shared my worries. “What if they don’t invite me? What will I do?” I asked. Lorena promised that if they didn’t, I could celebrate with her.
Christmas morning arrived with silence from my children. I cried, looking at the gifts under my tree. Then, a sudden knock. I expected Lorena, but when I opened the door, my kids and grandkids yelled, “Surprise!” They rushed in, five grandchildren heading straight for the presents.
Matthew came in last, avoiding my gaze before pulling me into a long, tight hug. “I’m so sorry, Mom,” he whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.” He confessed that seeing me as a cleaning lady made him feel ashamed—not of me, but of himself. Mrs. Atkinson had called and scolded him, pointing out that while he had success and luxury, I was working hard to pay bills after giving them everything.
Marina joined us, admitting she too felt guilty. “You shouldn’t have to work after the money you gave us,” she said. They insisted on paying me back and supporting me from now on. I smiled, making a mental note to thank Lorena. We spent the best Christmas ever as a family. Though they started depositing money into my account, I didn’t quit my job right away; I liked the company. I finally retired at 70, knowing my children would never forget to answer my calls again.
