I almost interrupted, but she raised her hand.
“I know what you’re thinking. That I did fail. I know. But at the time, I couldn’t hear anything except criticism. She told me I wasn’t ready to be a mother. She said I needed help.”
“She was right.”
“Yes,” Mom said. “She was.”
The admission silenced me.
“I left you with her because I thought it would be temporary,” Mom continued. “Then I met Daniel. He was kind to me. He had a stable job. He said we could start over.”
“You did start over.”
“I tried.”
“You had two more children.”
“I loved them.”
“I know.”
“But loving them didn’t mean I didn’t love you.”
I looked toward the window.
“Love isn’t only a feeling,” I said. “It’s what you do.”
Her eyes filled, though no tears fell.
“I know that now.”
“Do you?”
“I came to see you when you were six.”
I turned back to her.
“What?”
“You were asleep.”
“You came to Grandma’s house?”
“She wouldn’t let me wake you.”
“Why?”
“She said I was confused. She said I couldn’t keep appearing and disappearing from your life.”
I stared at her.
“Did you come back after that?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Several times.”
“Why don’t I remember?”
“You were little.”
“Why didn’t you stay?”
Mom lowered her gaze.
“Because every time I saw you, I realized I had no idea how to repair what I had done. And then too much time passed. The longer I stayed away, the harder it became to return.”
“That was your choice.”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt more than another excuse would have.
She opened the tin.
Inside were letters tied with faded blue ribbon. Some envelopes were addressed to Mom. Others had no names.
Mom lifted the top letter.
“Your grandmother wrote me for years,” she said. “I didn’t answer most of them.”
“Why keep them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why bring them now?”
“Because one of them explains the money.”
My heartbeat quickened.
Mom untied the ribbon and sorted through the envelopes. Her hands trembled slightly.
“This one was written eight years ago,” she said. “Your grandmother sent it after you started nursing school.”
I remembered that time. Grandma had been proud when I enrolled, though she worried about the cost.
Mom handed me the envelope.
The handwriting was Grandma’s.
