As long as I remembered my neighbor Rebecca was a constant in my life.
The second woman who always had fresh cookies for children of the neighborhood, the one who watched us when we played on the street, and the silent protector who seemed to need anything in return.
But there was something about the restricted – quiet intensity of her presence – which has always left me questions. Her life looked too perfect, too tucked in her own small world. And yet, behind every act of kindness, there was a secret, an unspoken story that I could never completely fit in my finger.
My neighbor, Rebecca, has always been constant in my life. She was a kind, caring woman who baked cookies for every child in the neighborhood and became a character like a family, even though she had never married or had her own children.
I made sure she would take care of her – covered with food, kept her lawn tidy, and just spent time with her when she needed society.
A few months ago I began to notice Rebecca, which grows fragile and weaker.
“Rebecca, you have to see a doctor,” I urged one evening as we were preparing dinner together.
“Oh, gold, it’s just the age that has driven,” she said. In the end, however, she agreed to see a doctor and the diagnosis was devastating: terminal tumor and only weeks for life.
The news hit hard.
One Saturday morning, when I water my garden, my phone rang. It was Rebecca. Her voice was weak, almost whisper.
“Maggie … Please come.
When I arrived, she lay in bed and her health got worse. “Rebecca, I’m here,” I said, sitting next to her, holding her cold hands. “What do you need? Do you want me to call someone?”
She shook her head. “No, dear. I need you to do something for me.”
“Whatever,” I promised.
She showed her fingers on the bedside table. “Open the drawer … Remove the wooden box,” she ordered.
I watched her words and opened a box with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. What I found out was inhaled – a small hospital bracelet, yellowed with age, a kind that put on a newborn. I involved the edge of the Rebecca bed for support.
“What … what is it, Rebecca?” I could hardly talk.
She exhaled weakly. “Read a letter, sweetheart.”
When I started reading, he filled my tears, my voice resists every word.
“My most expensive Maggie,
If you read it, then I came to me to share my deepest secrets, the one I held for many years close to my heart. I know that this revelation can shock and hurt you, but I hope you understand the love that led to this decision.
Years ago, when I was young and I, pregnant with a child and without means to ensure the future, I chose the hardest choice of my life. I was frightened, but I decided that my love for you, my only daughter, leads me to the right decision. ”
I stopped, impressed the word “daughter”. I looked at Rebecca, her eyes filled with intensity, love and something else I didn’t understand.
“Your parents, amazing people you have known all your life, were unable to have their own children. They wanted to share their lives and child. As I approached, they agreed with my suggestion, promised you a life that I could not, full of opportunities and love.”
When I read, my mind raced with memories, some of the unclear and others alive, but now they are starting to combine a new reality.
“When my time is coming to my end, I want you to know the truth, understand where you come from and that you were loved from both sides of the door that divided our homes. Forgive me to keep it secret
Rebecca’s words broke me. The letter slipped out of my hand and shook the floor. She was more than a neighbor; She was a guardian, a constant source of care and a quiet observer.
I looked at Rebecca, tears ran down my face and tried to work it all. “Was you my mom?” I whispered and my heart hurts me with a mixture of distrust and understanding.
Her eyes glittered with tears. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but I was afraid you hated me that you gave up to keep you secret.”
“I hate you,” I choke. “Just … I wish I knew it before. We could have it …”
She smiled weakly and barely whispered her voice. “I’ve always loved you, Maggie. Because I held you for the first time.”
“I also love you,” I whispered, holding her fragile hands tightly.
Later that evening, I sat with my parents in the living room, the same place I played as a child, while Rebecca watched me out the window.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked quietly.
“Rebecca promised us,” my mom said quietly. “She wanted you to have a normal childhood, without confusion. She loved you more than you could know, Maggie. She wanted you to have everything – a stable home, devoted parents and her warning next to.”
“Sometimes she would come after he went to sleep to check you,” my dad added. “She never wanted to intervene, never wanted to complicate your life, but she never stopped loving you.”
In weeks after Rebecca, I tried to understand everything. But then I had a deep realization.
I had two mothers who loved me all my life – one who gave me life and the one who gave me home. And even though I wanted me to know the truth before, I now understood that Rebecca had never left me.
She was all over with me.
In the end, Rebecca’s secrets were not only motherhood, but unconditional love, victim and non -degeal. Her decision to let me go and entrust me with life filled with love and stability was the greatest act of love I’ve ever imagined. Although the truth came too late, it all changed for me. I realized that I was loved all the time from two different places by two incredible women who shaped my life in different but equally meaningful ways.
Rebecca has left the emptiness, but also left me with the inheritance of love and a deeper understanding of the importance of the family, although it is not traditional or expected. I will forever be wearing her love in my heart and I am grateful for my life that helped me build how for my mother who raised me and watching me quietly. It is a beautiful reminder that love does not always follow the conventional path, but it is no less real, no less strong.