Despite my efforts the criticism only grew stronger with each passing week as if my existence itself had become offensive. She began suggesting that I sit in different rooms because she said the children might feel uneasy around an elderly person.
One afternoon I was trimming the roses my husband planted years ago in the garden while enjoying the quiet warmth of the sun. At that moment I heard Brianna speaking on the phone with her sister Tiffany Callahan, and her voice carried clearly through the open kitchen window.
“I cannot stand living with her anymore Tiffany,” Brianna said with frustration in her tone, “she is disgusting like an old woman and everything she does irritates me.”
My hands froze around the pruning shears while my heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. “The way she eats, coughs, and walks makes me sick,” Brianna continued, “but I need this place until I find a job so I will endure it for now.”
The shears slipped from my fingers and landed quietly on the grass while a heavy silence surrounded me. My own daughter was speaking about me as if I were something unpleasant that she merely tolerated.