My childhood was marked by my mother’s relentless frugality. Even though we lived comfortably—my father was a regional manager, and my mother was a nurse—her constant penny-pinching made me resent her. I couldn’t understand why she refused to let us enjoy life’s simple pleasures.
My father, Henry, was my favorite person. When he passed away tragically when I was seventeen, I was devastated. My relationship with my mother only grew more strained after she drained my college fund. I was furious and vowed never to forgive her for what I saw as a selfish act.
Years later, after her death, I found her diary. As I read through it, I discovered the truth about our family’s struggles. My father had a hidden gambling addiction, and my mother had been quietly working to pay off his debts. One entry stood out: “I had to drain Cara’s college fund… It was the only way to keep us from losing the house.”
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. I had spent years resenting her, not realizing the sacrifices she had made to protect me. My anger turned to regret as I finally understood the depth of her love.
