Mother And Child

Mother and Child.  Christmas is the time of the year when I think of that most of all. Not just the Mother and Child in that stable over 2,000 years ago but my relationship with my own Mother.

Some people are blessed with wonderful and sisterly relationships with their mothers.  Other have tense relationships.  My own relationship with my mother was very up and down.  She had me late in life and I came as a complete surprise.  With two sons approaching puberty, she assumed that she had done her part to swell the population and then - me!  She was looking forward to being a free agent agent so for many years she resented me and it showed!!

I loved her, I loved her very much, but you know how love and hate are both sides of the same coin.  I quickly picked up on her attitude.  I never remember any cuddles or hugs from her, no quality time spent together except on very rare occasions when she took me to London for the day, as much for herself as anything else.

I remember once when I was about seven, I had left the kitchen to go to my room and her little dog was right on my heels.  I did not see him and as I swung the door to behind me, it caught his paw under it and he let out a screech.  She came running but instead of seeing it as a complete accident, she said I had done it deliberately.  She went on at me for days over it.  So, I came to believe that she loved that dog more than me.

She decided to go back to work when I started school, so I was farmed out to one neighbour after the other until she came home in the evenings, that is until the neighbours got fed up with it.  So I had the key of the door at six years old and had to fend for myself.  I will not describe here the terrors which that caused.  Some things I just cannot bear to think about too much.  During the school holidays I was her "skivvy".  She never did like housework much.  I was not allowed out to play or have anyone into the house.  I would be given a list of jobs to do like dusting, peeling the potatoes, laying thefire or banking the fire up, cleaning out the ashes and it was always checked when she came home.  I used to get all the work out of the way as quickly as I could and then bury myself in a book.

I do not know why I am opening myself up like this today.  It is something I do not do on my journal normally.  Maybe it is because Christmas is so close and the mother/child relationship is so much on my mind.

In my mother's bedroom she kept a large trunk, like the ones people used to take on passenger boats.  It was in the bay window and behind her dressing table, so I could sit on that and look out of the window at all the other children playing in the street whilst I sat with my book.  They were my escape.  They could take me to other places and other times that those children playing down there could not reach.  That is when I developed my love for books and the written word in general.

Of course, my Father got wind of what was going on and they had endless rows over it.  Mother was adamant.  She would not stay home.  He could not change her mind so eventually he buried his head in the sand and pretended it was not happening.

I envied the other girls and the relationship they had with their own mothers.  So, I turned off my love for her.  To me she was nothing more than the person who gave me birth.

Then, a curious thing happened.  When I was about thirteen and developing into a woman in my own right, she suddenly seemed to "wake up" and realise that she had a daughter. All of a sudden she wanted to be my friend, wanted to share in my life.  She went to hug me one day and I backed off.  She was puzzled.  I explained, it was too late.  I had grown up without her, I did not want her now.  I had grown up without her love or her time, she could keep it now.  So, throughout my teenage years, our relationship was very tense.  I found refuge at my Grandmother's house.  Regular readers will remember my several entries on Grandma and her home.

Life moves on and at twenty-one I was very very ill.  That is when the relationshipwith my mother changed.  She sat up with me night after night, mopping my brow, stroking my hair, crying for me.  That is when I realised that she did have true feelings.  When she thought that she was going to lose me, she became a different person.  She became the person that she always should have been.

Our relationship went from strength to strength and when I had Becky it was stronger still.  Mum had always wanted a grand-daughter and had only grandsons. So, after all those years we finally became mother and daughter.  Of course, I have never forgotten the bad times, I never will, childhood memories are what shape us, we carry them all our lives.  But, I learned to forgive.

I remember the first Christmas without her.  We had buried her eight days previously.  We went back from the snow covered cemetery to my parents' home where the wake was held.  I wanted to stay the night with my father but he would have none of it.  I think he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts.  Mike, Becky and I returned to our own home which was hung with all the decorations and the Christmas tree standing proud.  We had always put our decorations up for the 5th December, ever since the first year of our marriage.  How dreadful, it all seemed.  The house so festive, our hearts so empty and her lying in the cold alone.

I wanted to cancel Christmas that year but, of course, I could not.  Firstly, there was ten year old Becky to think about.  You cannot punish a child because you have lost your own Mother.  Then there was my father and Mike's Mum.  So, I carried on as usual between breaking down into fits of sobbing.  Christmas Day was also my Mother's Birthday which made it doubly hard because we used to really go to town over both events.  I went through it all like a zombie but I was determined to see it through.  All was well until people were seated around the dining table and I was carrying in the meals.  I sat down at my own place, then I looked around.  There were five of us and there should have been six.  There was no vacant chair, not visible, but I could see it.  I could not help it, I ran from the room, shut myself in the bedroom and cried for about two hours.  I cried for the emptiness, I cried for all the lost years when we were not close,  I cried because I would never see her again. I cried with anger that she had left me. I cried for my father.  I just cried.

Later, I bathed my eyes and rejoined them.  I went up to my father to say how sorry I was because I felt I had let him down.  He motioned me not to speak.  He just put his arms around me with tears in his eyes.  We both knew what the other was thinking.  We did not need words.

Five years later we went through it again when my father died on Boxing Day (26th December for our American friends) and then there were four.  Christmases were never the same.

This week we will be making the trip to the cemetery to lay our Christmas wreath on the grave of my parents and flowers on the memorial to my brother.  Maybe that is why this has poured out of me today.  They are so much in my thoughts.

I cannot believe it is over 24 years since mum left us.  Nearly a quarter of a century and yet sometimes it seems as if it were only yesterday.  I miss her laughter.  She had a very infectious laugh and always had tears in her eyes which she dabbed at when she laughed.  I cannot really remember after all this time how her voice sounded but I still see her face clearly and I still hear that laugh. 

I deeply regret that we were not close when I was young. We both lost so very much.  I treasure the fact that we did become a true mother and daughter and I love her now as I loved her then.

Now, I am a Grandmother myself and we have little Nathan.  So for once, in a very long time, I am looking forward to Christmas and sharing it with my daughter and her family.  I like to think that Becky had a better relationship with me when young than I had with my own mother.

So, today I am thinking of all of you mothers and grandmothers out there.  I wish you a blessed and happy Christmas bathed in the glow of your families. Some of you may get stressed at Christmas, there might even belittle flares of temper.  Just shrug it off . Make the most of your families, make the very most of every single second.

Love each other, hold no resentments, put any differences aside.  Cherish each moment, because each moment is truly precious.  I know.