My mother’s frugality was a constant source of frustration during my childhood. Despite our comfortable lifestyle—my father was a regional manager, and my mother was a nurse—her obsession with saving money made me resent her. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t let us enjoy life’s little pleasures.
My father, Henry, was my rock. His sudden death when I was seventeen left me heartbroken, and my relationship with my mother only grew colder. When she drained my college fund, I was furious. I saw it as a selfish act and vowed never to forgive her.
Years later, after her passing, I found her diary. As I read through its pages, I discovered the truth about our family’s struggles. My father had a secret gambling addiction, and my mother had been quietly working to pay off his debts. One entry read, “I had to drain Cara’s college fund… It was the only way to keep us from losing the house.”
Her words brought me to tears. 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.
