You were always the parents my friends all wanted to have and they envied our relationship. We used to meet at our house before going out at the weekends. Mum, you sat with us, bought us drinks and laughed at our jokes and stories, and were never judgmental. You gave me my first pack of cigarettes. We used to smoke together, drink coffee, talk for hours and hide our smoking from Dad. You were cool. I could talk to you about anything.
But I was also the one you came crying to when you found out Dad was cheating on you. You told me there was nothing left between the two of you and that you decided to stay in this marriage because of me. I was 12. We had that conversation many times during the following years. And I understood … what were you supposed to do? You were closer to Dad’s family than you were to your own. Dad was away a lot, while you made your life at home. His habits and yours became increasingly different but you stepped aside when he came home, and then you got your life back when he left. Yes, you still knew how to have fun together. I remember watching you dance in the kitchen one night; Dad couldn’t sleep, so he made a pot of strong coffee at half past midnight. His head was full of ideas and he needed a listener, so you got up, put on some music, smoked and listened. And then you danced. Often he would convince you to get dressed and visit some friends – never minding that it was a workday and not everyone had the next day off like he did.
Oh, Dad, your ideas really were something … I loved listening to you too. Until one day, when you told me that you were having an affair and asked me if I could clean up your second apartment because you had to leave and you didn’t want Mum to find out. As I grew older, you began relying on me to keep things together at home while you were away – which meant controlling how much Mum spent and reporting it to you. To this day, I still pay your bills because you never learned to use online banking. Your bags were and are always full of expensive gifts for me when you returned.
I got married and moved away but not much has changed. You still attend my birthday parties and my friends still think you are incredibly cool. You danced the night away at my wedding. Mum, we still spend hours and hours together talking, smoking and drinking coffee. You rented an apartment in my town and when you visit, you make the most of it. I make sure your fridge is full, I cook lunch for all of us or you join my husband’s family when we dine with them. I make sure your rent is paid and your troubles are heard. I am your entire social life. You have no need for others. You leave my house when my husband returns home in the evening and you’re back the next day when I return from work. You play with my daughter and nurse her when she’s ill and I have to work.
And yet, I feel guilty … that both of you had to stay in a loveless marriage. I feel guilty for keeping your secrets from the other one; I feel like an accomplice in all that cheating. Mum, I also feel responsible for leaving you alone and spending some time with my friends when you visit. I know you would have been lonely without me, you have no friends in this town.
But lately, my husband has been telling me that you’re suffocating him with your presence, suffocating me; he is demanding I do something about it, otherwise our marriage will crash. How can I do that? I know I’m strong enough to keep you both afloat, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to leave you to each other.
Sincerely, your drowning daughter
