My Mother Hated Me For Twenty Years and I'm Dead

For twenty years, my mom hated me.

She’d always say I was just like my dad, a useless loser, and that it would be better if I were dead.

On my 20th birthday, I begged her to see me one last time.

She sounded cold, “You're not dead yet, and the funeral home’s busy. Stop bothering me.”

I hung up, laughing bitterly.

On social media, just ten minutes earlier, she posted photos of herself at an amusement park with my stepsister.

Later, I actually did die.

She was the one who put me in the cremator, watched me burn to ash, and tossed me into a trash can.

I thought she’d finally gotten what she wanted, but three days later, she was on her knees outside the funeral home, sobbing and begging for my forgiveness.

——

My mom was a cremator at the funeral home.

That day, she was the one burning the body of someone she had hated for twenty years, me, her own daughter.

All the aunts and uncles who cared about me were there, crying their eyes out.

Some were on their knees, asking why a young girl had to die.

But not my mom.

Her face was blank, calm, like she was about to cremate someone she didn’t even know.

“Stop crying. The furnace is ready. It’s time,” she said, as she put on her gloves and mask.

She was already calculating how long it would take to turn me into ashes.

“Mabel… Lillian…Lillian was your daughter!” Uncle Jordan, who had always been closest to me, stared at her in shock. He couldn’t believe she was that cold.

He had thought that maybe my death would make her cry, that it would finally hit her how she had treated me all these years.

But he didn’t know my mom like I did.

“She wasn’t my daughter. I only have one daughter, Tracy.”

See? I had expected that.

She had never acknowledged me as her own.

Even at school events, it was always the funeral home staff who took turns showing up.

For as long as I could remember, she had never spent more than a day alone with me.

Jordan, realizing how pointless it was, wiped his tears and stood beside my coffin.

“Start the furnace,” my mom said, her voice flat.

The flames roared to life.

Even when she saw my body one last time, her expression didn’t change.

Like always, she gave a quick, formal bow. “Rest in peace.”

Her movements were practiced and professional, handling me like any other body. In just two minutes, she was done.

Suddenly, she paused. Her fingers brushed the necklace around my neck, trembling just a little.

It was the only gift she’d ever given me.

For a second, I thought she might actually feel something. But then, she ripped it off and slammed the cremator door shut.

An hour later, I was nothing but ashes.

I never realized she hated me this much, not even a trace of love left for me.

She didn’t bother giving me a resting place. In front of everyone, she dumped my ashes into the trash can.

Just like she always said, “Trash belongs in the trash.”

After that, she dusted off her hands and called Tracy.

“Tracy, you must be upset. Let’s go shopping tonight for your birthday, okay?”

Then she hung up, already smiling, thinking about Tracy’s party.

Mom, did you forget? It’s my birthday, too.

I followed right behind her, my heart breaking all over again.

I reached out, hoping to grab hold of her, but my hand passed through nothing.

Even as a ghost, Mom, it still hurts.