The photograph depicted a moment frozen in time, capturing the bond between mother and daughter. But behind the smiles, lay a story of heartache, estrangement, and a daughter torn between honoring her mother’s dying wish and facing the wrath of her estranged family.

My mother’s passing last year left a void in my life that I never imagined could be filled. We had been each other’s rock, navigating the storms of life together, even when the world seemed against us. But amidst the grief, there was a weighty decision that I grappled with – one that would test the bonds of family loyalty and personal integrity.

You see, my mother had been estranged from her family for as long as I could remember. The wounds ran deep, scars etched into her heart by years of mistreatment and betrayal. Despite occasional attempts from her siblings to reconnect, my mother remained steadfast in her resolve to keep them at arm’s length. And when she spoke of her final wishes, she made it clear – she did not want her family at her funeral, nor did she wish to attend theirs. She preferred if they remained blissfully unaware of her passing.

It was a difficult decision to make, but I respected my mother’s wishes. I kept her secret, shielding her from the pain and disappointment that her family had inflicted upon her for so many years. But when one of my aunts reached out recently, seeking news of my mother, I found myself at a crossroads.

In that moment, I made a choice – to honor my mother’s memory and protect her legacy, even if it meant facing the fury of her estranged family. I told my aunt the truth, and in doing so, unleashed a storm of anger and resentment that threatened to consume me.

They accused me of cruelty and deceit, of robbing them of the chance to say goodbye. But what they failed to understand was the depth of my mother’s pain, the scars left behind by years of mistreatment and betrayal. They had no right to mourn her, no right to claim a place at her funeral when they had been absent from her life for so long.

For the record, my mother’s estrangement from her family was not without cause. They treated her with disdain and cruelty, siding with my grandmother who favored her other siblings and turned them against her. They gaslit her, denied her pain, and spread lies about her sanity to anyone who would listen.

So, am I wrong for keeping my mother’s dying wish? No. I am merely honoring the woman who gave me life, who loved me unconditionally, and who deserved to have her final wishes respected, even in death. And if that means facing the wrath of her estranged family, then so be it. For in the end, my loyalty lies with my mother, and no amount of anger or resentment can change that.