I spent so many years waiting for my children and grandchildren to remember I existed. Then I won the lottery, and suddenly everyone wanted to come back home. For one night, I let them believe they knew why I had gathered them all together. They were completely wrong.
The first call came at 6:17 in the morning, right after I won the jackpot, while my coffee was still dripping and my hands were wrapped around the old World’s Best Mom mug my son had given me years ago. I stared at my phone for so long that the screen finally went dark. It was not from Denise, nor Carla, and certainly not Benjamin. Still, I checked it every morning, hoping against hope.
At 6:15 I made my coffee in that very same blue mug. The gold letters had faded over the years until the inscription looked more like World’s Best Mm. Well, I told the mug, at least you still remember me. I raised three kids on my own: Denise, Carla, and Benjamin. I worked two jobs, sat through countless fevers, heartbreak, and school plays where I clapped much too loudly because someone simply had to. Then they grew up, moved out, and started their own lives. Somewhere along that journey, they forgot about mine.
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