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My mum was a big lady, in every way. Large of body, mind and presence. I am ashamed to admit it, but when I was in high school, I would dread parent-teacher night because I didn’t want anyone to see how fat she was. Similarly, family trips to the shopping centre would see me walk 10 paces ahead or behind, rolling my eyes angrily if she dared call out to me. Of course I grew out of that, but her weight was always an issue for our whole family. She lost 40 kilograms one year, and it was fantastic. She bought new clothes and went on an overseas trip to New Zealand for the first time. Sadly, the weight crept back on, and it certainly helped kill her when she was only 65.
She never drove, so there was always lots of ferrying around with mum. Trips to doctors and shops, our weekly visit to Waverley Gardens to see an 11am movie together on a Friday when I was at Uni, (she’d insist we get there at 10am to get a ‘good seat’ in the always empty cinema). She was physically dependent on dad and all of us, and I am sure she resented this, as she was always the sharpest mind in the room. She had devoted her life to being a mum to her own three children, to fostering 17 others, and to adopting one of those (me). How lucky I was to have this incredible matriarch as my own mum. I was adopted at four years of age, so I don’t really have anything to compare it with, but I doubt I could have had a closer relationship with my ‘real’ mother. Mum was strict, and proud of me, and supportive, and silly, and ever so bossy. Her home and children really were the centre of her world and mum had firm views on how each of us should live our lives. Support was given freely, provided your plans happened to align with her own vision for your future. She would voice her disapproval in spells of silence (she once ignored me for 3 weeks when I went away on a holiday with my boyfriend, against her wishes, at age 20).
Now I am a parent, I know there are things I will do differently from mum. She was so totally controlling that I would often lie about where I was going in high school; I would stay at a friend’s house in theory, whilst we would be staying out all night at Chelsea beach, drinking cask wine and feeling terribly cool. She never did like that boyfriend, and the convoluted web of lies I told regarding our liaisons over the years makes my head ache in memory. Her strict regime never diminished my love for her, of course, and I am most grateful to have been able to experience a brief time when our relationship moved into the phase of adulthood, and she saw me as a mother in my own right. This was, however, all too brief. My sons were just three and two when my mother died on June 22nd, 2008.
I lay my head on her dead stomach and howled. “My mum, my mum, my mum”. I repeated those words helplessly, like a mantra. Funny how primal it felt. My sister and I had been with her as she took her last breath and I was now alone in ‘that’ room with her lifeless, large corpse. Still warm. Still smelling of my mum. Two days before I had chided her for being dramatic when she announced to me that she was dying.“Don’t be silly mum, you’re just in hospital for your asthma”. A day before I had called in on my way to pick up my sons from their other grandparents on the Peninsula. I never left the hospital. The quiche in the esky on the front seat of my car went off. Phone calls were made, doctors spoke in hushed tones. Such a fuss to ensure the dying are ‘made comfortable’. I don’t think she cared if she was bathed or not. I certainly didn’t.
A fortnight after the death, with the true horror of my new reality setting in, I commented to my husband; “Well, I could rob a bank now and it wouldn’t matter”. He patiently asked me to elaborate. I explained to him that no one in my life, from this point on, would ever care as much about me as my mum. Pure and simple. No one’s opinion would ever matter as much to me, no one’s approval would be so sought, no one’s 2 cents worth would be equal parts valued and annoying.
You lose your narrative arc when your mum dies. Part of your story has gone. The person who was truly there with you from the start (or in my case, from four, but let’s not get technical), is no longer there. A couple of months after her death, on a particularly good day, I came home, and as I placed my keys on the shelf, I asked my husband “Did mum call?”. For a brief, shining moment, I didn’t even know why he looked at me so sadly. And then I remembered.
Free. No one else in charge of you, no one to ever exert such total emotional power over you.
Free.
The saddest freedom I have ever known.
What set you free?
Fiona is a modern history and English teacher and mother of two.
Comments
137 Comments so far
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What a beautiful piece, my mum died over 12 years ago and even now my first thought whenever something happens is to pick up the phone and call her.
She was not perfect by any means, but no one will ever love me like she did, and I will never love anyone like I love her.
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I always thought of my
Mum disparagingly – nothing she ever did was right. Until I found out she had a very short time to live and then I realized how perfect she was. 7 years later and life without my mum is like how I imagine living without a limb might be. The saddest moments ard when my 11 and 9 yr old kids tell me they don’t really remember grandma, when I know that grandma was the role that mum was truly born to play.
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Sadly, my relationship with my mum was very different, marred by mental illness. But I was still devastated to learn of her passing recently. I blogged about it here http://footprintsaustralia.com/blog/2011/09/07/a-spooky-story/.
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My dad died just over a year ago, and I’m still trying to make sense of the world – it forces you to question everything you thought you knew about life, and death. There are so many things I wish I could ask him, or tell him. I think the Glee episode ‘Funeral’ describes it well – it’s like you’ve been attached by an invisible tether, then suddenly, you’re just lost holding a rope with nobody on the other end.
I’d highly recommend Kindah Greening’s book Grief: the Toothache of the Soul. His daughter died, and his account of how you have good days and bad ones, the feelings and the process, is the most honest and accurate I’ve encountered.
To answer the question – my freedom came when I realised that the way I’d been treated in two very controlling and emotionally abusive relationships (one romantic, one not) was wrong. It feels like it happened to someone else, almost. It’s so weird being able to breathe when for so long somebody was drowning you, and it’s a huge task trying to make sense of what happened. And it’s liberating knowing it’s behind you, though leaving was hard and not running back even harder.
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This explains exactly how I’m feeling, my Mum died three months ago tomorrow. And it just makes complete sense of everything that I can’t explain to my friends or my soon to be husband. Thank you for this. Thank you thank you thank you.
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I wept.
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Thank you so much Fiona for such a wonderful post. I cried reading it, really beautifully written.
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I’m really touched I always love this part of the poem I keep as a motto to myself. “A mother will walk the extra mile just to see her children smile.
She’ll work her fingers to the bone to make a house into a home.”
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Thanks for sharing this Fiona. You have hit the nail right on the head for me. My mum passed away 2 months ago and through the things you have to arrange I wasn’t really sure what about her I really miss. Our relationship was very similar to yours, my mum had a disability, was loud, sometimes innaproprite and often spoke truthfully without thinking. As a kid this was embarrassing and as an adult whilst still embarrasing,you learn that sometimes honestly is the best policy. Things don’t always need to be sugar coated. Although you may not want to hear it, it is what it is. I too miss the phone calls on the middle of dinner, the phone calls about nothing in particular and believe it or not I even miss the phone calls late at night that began with ‘ I thought you would be asleep’
I remember thinking that family events would be a little easier now that she has passed, not having to juggle family members and waiting for the inevitable social fa paus. I guess in a sense that I thought i was free…. But I do truly miss that brutal honesty, the fact that she was the only one that would call every day to see what I had been doing and show a genuine interest my life. No one else has such interest. When writing the eulogy for her funeral, it was really important to me that everyone knew how many amazing things my mum had done and all of her accomplisents so that she wouldn’t be remembered as the loud disabled lady , but the woman trapped inside. Fiona thank you so much for this, it has helped me to realize exactly why mums are so special.
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So true and so beautifully expressed.
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That was lovely and had me in tears
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The most beautifully written post I’ve read on mama mia. My dad has just lost both parents in less than 12 months and often tells me he feels empty. I was very close to both grandparents and have beautiful memories. I now understand how different the loss is for him, heartbreaking.
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With tears welling, beautiful post. I dread the day I’ll lose my mum but I cherish every day she is here.
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Thank you, a beautiful post.
My mother died 11 years ago and my father 18 months ago. Now they are both gone there is a sense of freedom but it is also a very strange feeling to know that you are parent less.
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“I explained to him that no one in my life, from this point on, would ever care as much about me as my mum. Pure and simple.”
Don’t forget Fiona, that your children love you as much as you loved your Mum!
The same relationship, just from your Mum’s perspective <3
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What a beautiful post.
I’m close to my Mum but I was a lot closer with my Dad. I have a disabled sister and most of my Mum’s time has been spent caring for her so as a child Dad and I became very close. I’m very much like him- in how I speak, how I act, how I think. We had the same sense of humour, very sarcastic and dry. He passed away 2 years ago- his funeral was 2 years ago today. I was 29 when he passed away, a Mum to a 3 and 18 month old. I felt free that he was gone after a short battle with cancer, free that he was now in peace. But you are right, it’s a sad freedom. I too felt alone, even still now, feel alone now.
Thankyou for this post, it’s helped me get through the morning. My dear Dad was not perfect- but he was my Dad. I’m remembering the good times.
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It’s very beautiful & lovely post,great story!
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Crying like a baby
as with a lot of people here I haven’t had the easiest relationship with my mum. She’s been sick for as long as I can remember, with multiple addictions to boot. I’ve loved her, stood up for her, despaired of her, despised her, wanted to cut her out of my life. Even said I hated her (my very loving bf won’t let me get away with that though). My biggest fear is that she will be completely useless when I have kids. The worst part about having a mum like this is when you see other people’s fun, happy, fulfilling and loving relationships with their mums. And f$&@ing hallmark holidays like mothers day. That fury, hurt and jealousy just sucks. And it’s not something you can ever really share so thank you so much for opening up about your also complex relationship with your mum. Glad you found peace.
Oh and I was embarrassed about my mum as a kid for being a cripple. How’s that for atrocious
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You are not atrocious, not at all x
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Take heart – you are not alone – big hugs. Lots of us have difficult relationships with our mums. In fact I didn’t see mine for 14 years before her death. I would take my babies out when they were little and burst into tears when I saw other young mums with their doting mum in tow. A good counsellor / psychologist helped me heaps.
I have a son & a daughter. My daughter sometimes wishes she had a sister esp when she sees how close I am to mine. But as I tell her, “you have an awesome mum instead. I didn’t!” LOL
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I thought this post spoke about a mother-daughter relationship so well.
It is the best of times and the worst of times – its is so complex, and not always perfect – but you have a bond with your mother, that you will never have with anyone else. And it’s irrespective of whether they were your birth mother, it is a purely emotional connection with the single person that reared you.
Beautiful. x
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I miss my mum my everyday. The grief eases but the loss remains.
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Oh my gosh, beautifully written, I’m off to call my mum now. Thank you for reminding me how special she is.
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There have been many moments of feeling set free – most happy, some bittersweet.
Getting up in front of an audience in highschool for theatre set me free. I lost my shyness and took pride in being able to do something many people cannot.
Another moment was when I left my ex husband. The weight that lifted from my shoulders…. I embodied the phrase the incredible lightness of being.
And then the sad moment when my dad died and I was struck that I was actually an orphan at 35. As self assured and financially stable as I was, it was a shocking thought that I could never go home again.
Thank you for your lovely piece.
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I rarely cry over posts, but this made me finally do it. Great story.
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I cried too Faybian.
“You lose your narrative arc when your mum dies. Part of your story has gone. The person who was truly there with you from the start (or in my case, from four, but let’s not get technical), is no longer there.”
My mum drives me mental, but she’s always loved me no matter what and sometimes I’m not very nice to her. I’m really going to try to be a better daughter from now on.
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Fiona, I don’t have a lot to say about this piece except thank you so much for being able to write down and share how you felt/feel. It really struck a chord with me.
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Very touching. So honest.
As I first read the description of your mothers’ “controlling” habits I immediately had flashes of my own mum. Then of myself as a mum (I have taken on some of those traits).
And I had moments of panic when you mentioned that you had to lie to escape her control.
She sounded like a real presence. I am sorry you lost her so young.
In a month I am leaving Australia (and my mum!) with my husband and children to live overseas for at least a year. By far the longest I’ve ever been away from her.
I will have to do everything without her help. (which is there at the drop of a hat everyday.)
As a teenager I would have loved that opportunity.
Now…I can’t even think of it without crying.
It’s true. You don’t know what you have until you no longer have it.
Thanks again for your story
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It’s funny to me how people talk about their mum being so strict as though it was a bad thing. I know it can be hard but i cannot imagine how myself and my four siblings would have made it out alive it she hadn’t have been so intense. I am also really lucky that i can have “words” with my mum and not be worried about ruining the relationship. I know she loves me without hearing the words although she does occasionally use them. I live with a big ball of dread in belly for the day i have to deal with her being gone. I hope she is good and old before it happens and hopefully not crazy, like her mother was hee hee!!
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Amazing piece, and some amazing comments below. Serves as a reminder as to just how lucky I am to still have both my parents. Mum and I have always been close, and take care of each other. She battled terrible depression when I was 18-19 which was then my time to look after her I guess. Now she’s the first person I call with good or bad news, achievements etc. I can’t imagne life without her.
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What a beautiful piece of writing, so heartfelt, im typing with tears pouring down my face,this really touched my heart, thank you.
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What a beautifully written piece. Thank you Fiona. Have you watched Judith Lucy’s show? In an episode last week she covered the death of her own parents and spoke in a similar way. I still have both my parents and cannot envisage life without them (even when my mother drives me batty). Once again, thank you for writing this, it made me reflect on a few things.
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I to lost my mum a few months after my daughter was born. That is exactly how I felt and couldn’t find the words for. That feeling of a loss of a special love and a special feeling that can never be replaced.
I cant stop crying
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Wow!!
Now if only we would have the wisdom to know these things and to act accordingly while our mums are with us…
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I hear you sister!
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Beautifully written. xxxx
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Gosh I related to those last few lines, I know exactly what you mean…. I miss my mum so much.
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Oh Fiona, that was just beautiful but so hard for me to read. My mum died of cancer when I was 19 and she was the total opposite of me- skinny, outgoing, vivacious and talented. Her dying didn’t set me free but 20 odd years later I look back and I do see I am who I am now because of the 19 years influence she had on my life. As a mother now, it hurts sometimes, well, a lot, when I remember she isn’t her to see herself in her granddaughters.
In saying that , becoming a mum is what set me free. Helped me address my grief and loss, find ways to cope with it and learn to not always put myself first.
On a side note, what you said about being embarrassed by your mum being fat really hit me. I’m overweight and so conscious of it and was forced final hi to getting healthy this teat by a major health crises. However, my eldest girl, when she was 5, said to me one day “Mum I want to tell you something but I don’t want you to be hurt”. I told hershe could tell me anything…………”Mum, I think you might be fat, but you are still the most beautiful mum in Kindy”. God bless her, too too sweet xxxx
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My Mum died at the end of last year, one week before I had my second son. My grandmother (her mother) died in February this year. I was only thinking last night, after I got upset yet again, that I wish I had someone to talk to about it, other than my husband. This article has helped a bit. It’s hard knowing that you will never have that unconditional love felt for you ever again. And there are so many things that I will never know about her. Miss her every day.
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beautiful, thought provoking and so, so true.
i really need to think about nurturing my relationship with my mum more, we seem to be at loggerheads at the moment, which isn’t normal. anyway this really made me think, so i want to thank you for that.
xx
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Me too. I rarely show my mum how much I care. There seems to be a wall between us but reading this and many of the comments has made me want to go tell her that I love her and create some special memories before it’s too late xx
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Can I just add for those of us here who have lost mothers, there’s an excellent book called ‘Motherless Daughters’ by Hope Edelmann. I found it when I was about 19 in a book shop, I sat on the floor of the shop and read it for about 20 minutes. I love it so much. I’ve given copies to a couple of friends and actually received a second copy myself from a beautifully thoughtful friend who had heard the author being interviewed on the radio and thought of me!
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Yes, I bought that book many years ago and read it and cried my heart out, but in a good way. It certainly made me feel less alone xxxxxx
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Yep, that’s what it did to me! Just reading this thread shows how many of us are out there, which is sad but good to know.
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“A couple of months after her death, on a particularly good day, I came home, and as I placed my keys on the shelf, I asked my husband “Did mum call?”. For a brief, shining moment, I didn’t even know why he looked at me so sadly. And then I remembered.”
Oh dear. I’m in tears.
I can relate to this so much, my grandparents have been dead for over a decade but only last week I wanted to call my nan. I just wanted to talk to her.
My mother died two months before my tenth birthday. Half of me is missing and always will be. I’m just grateful that I had her for that brief time.
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I am too teary to write anything so I am just ticking everyone elses comments…
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Beautiful writing, thank you for sharing Fiona.
Reading most of the comments below I feel a bit empty… I wish I could say some of the things others have said about the close relationship they have with their mothers.
I love my mum, and she would be devasted to hear me say it, but I feel we have a very strained relationship. I tread on eggshells around her to keep the peace. I spent my teenage years fighting with her terribly (and I was a ‘good girl’, never did anything outrageous or ‘wrong’) because she was controlling my thoughts and emotions. And for many years now I just keep conversation with her light-hearted and centred around her so as to avoid blow-ups.
I know she loves me, but I can’t actually remember her ever saying it to me. I am sure she has but it’s certainly been such a long time that I can’t remember. And she has never told me that she thinks I am a good mother to my own children. Yet she tells me all the time how she thinks my sister is a great mother to her kids. (while at the same time telling me all the things she thinks my sister does ‘wrong’ as a parent… go figure)
At various times in our adult life, my sister and I have lived in different states and countries and my parents always visited her wherever she was, but never, ever got a plane and visted me.
She makes life difficult for herself and therefore everyone around her… still, I can’t bear to think of her not being around one day.
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Cordeline, I could have just about written your post, my situation with my mother is so similar.
I have spent the last few years trying to change it, being myself around her, not doing the “walking on eggshells” thing but ultimately I just ended up upset all the time & disappointed. So I have gone back to keeping it very “on the surface”.
I also have read most of the other posts her and felt empty and actually in tears, they made me feel this more than the original post.
I have two young daughters and am trying so hard to have a different relationship with them.
Like you I can’t remember my mother saying “I love you”, in fact last year while trying to get closer I sarted saying it to her sometimes when I hung up the phone but she never said it back and it obv made her very uncomfortable.
I also know my mother would be devastated I feel this way. She thinks we are close but a lot of therapy has taught me that she has never actually known or understood me, just some idea she has of me. Sad as I desperately want the loving acceptance others have with their mothers.
I also can’t bear to think what it would be like if she wasn’t here.
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Wow! Our stories are remarkably similar, right down to the two young daughters and even what therapy has taught me – same as you basically.
I will admit to feeling a bit panicked after I posted above because I thought I might have sounded a bit pathetic given the rawness of Fiona’s story, but I guess we all have different stories, and it’s kind of nice to hear I am not alone.
Good luck with your mum and those eggshells x
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Thanks so much for your comments. My situation is very similar and it is comforting to hear those words from other people. My mother died 4 years ago and I have to warn you that it is far worse now she is gone. It is worse because while she was alive there was always a chance that I might one day have the kind of relationship with her that I craved. Now she is gone that chance is gone. So I carry a lot of grief made worse by the fact that I don’t miss my mother at all because we really had a very destructive relationship. I just miss the hope that existed while she was alive. She had cancer and we all knew she was dying for over 18 months and neither of us did anything to rescue the relationship during that time – or to even make peace. I guess that just shows how broken it was and how there really was never any chance for us. That’s what makes me so sad.
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Oh Tracy… I wanted to reply to you, but I actually don’t even know what to say.
I’m so sorry you have that regret. I love your line ‘I just miss the hope that existed while she was alive’. Even though my mum is alive, I just know that this is what I will be thinking one day. It’s scary to even admit that, because many people will be saying ‘well, fix it, fix it now’… but sometimes, things are just un-fixable aren’t they? And maybe that’s not always a bad thing… I just can’t imagine the past 38 years with my mum being erased and turned into something else, because that would seem fake. I’m not explaining myself well, so I have to stop before people think I am horrible
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Thanks for this Cordeline I can so relate to your description! It is so tiring, keeping things surfacey, sometimes I wish I could just be ‘me’ around my mum and not have to deal with blow ups or silent treatments!
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Oh my god that was crushingly beautifully, sad. Thank you.
I lost my mum at 7 and mourn for the relationship i would never have.
I also get choked up when i think of how tough her life was being a paraplegic and caring for a small child whilst battling hospital stays for diabetes.
When talking to my nan about my mum’s life it cut me so deep to hear of the struggles. As a child i never realised it and as an adult all i feel is sadness.
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I lost my mum when I was 11, here one day not here the next. At 11 it was hard to comprehend as she was only 42. At 11 I thought she was old. Now I realize she was so young and 27 years later I still cry and wish she was here to see my own kids.
My dad died nearly 13 years ago but mentally he died of a broken heart the day my mum passed away, he was never the same after she died. He passed away a week after her anniversary, he would always go into a depression the week of her anniversary. He was ill for a long time though and when he passed away I felt he had finally found his sweetheart again.
I miss them both terribly and the hurt never goes away, I guess over time you just learn to deal with it differently.
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So true, my mum died when she was 45 and I remember thinking “well she did live most of her life”. Now as I get older and have children of my own I realise she was so young and she must have been so scared. It makes me cry to think of leaving my children before I get to see them married or have children of their own. Even though I have 3 beautiful girls (one adopted at age 4) I still miss that mother/daughter bond I had with my mum and I don’t think there is ever a day that goes by when I don’t think of her and feel sad. This article brought all these feelings up and made me cry.
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I’m so very sorry for your loss x
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powerful stuff. Love it, thanks for sharing.
The part that stood out most for me was the comment about how no one will care for you like your mum does, or know you like your mum does. My mum is my rock, I could not be the nurse I am today without her. I always call her when I’m walking to the car and those 5 minutes to debrief about my day help me sleep easier at night and get up and do it all again the next day.
I’ve said to my mum recently that I’m not done with her yet and she’s not to die yet. I want her around when I get married and have babies (God willing).
Great post.
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I’m 27 and just moved back home after a bad breakup. My mum slept in my bed for a week while I had too much anxiety to sleep alone . She never got annoyed when I woke her up crying and scared of hurting myself . She always listens and I can tell her anything . My aunt and my cousin both says we are too close , but I think that when she is not here one day anymore I’ll be forever grateful foe being so close to her . She would do anything for us , and she is my rock .
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She sounds amazing.
You’re fortunate to have her there for you the way she is
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My mother is also THE most important person in my life, above anyone else I know. She’s been there through all the good times and the hard times. A couple of years ago (I have recently turned 19) – I became very sick (seems my digestive system broke down and the doctors couldn’t explain it, because all the tests showed that I was perfectly healthy, except I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep and was so, so very weak). This lasted for more than a year and I fell into a deep depression that frightened me to death. In fact, I felt like giving up my life so many times due to overwhelming shame, anger and fear.
My mother was there with me for that whole year…she barely left my side…she waited on me hand and foot and never once complained…constantly pulled me out of that deep dark hole and gave me hope…I must have been absolutely hell to deal with (and said the most horrible things to her, simply because I was so, so angry and wanted to blame everyone…but instead of thinking “what a selfish, terrible daughter”, she cried with me and hugged me until I smiled)
I can’t imagine how exhausted she must have been during that time, and when I asked her about it, she simply smiled and said that she would do it all over again. It was her immeasurable love that pulled me through and I am forever grateful. The amount of compassion she has and her selflessness seems almost inhuman…But I realize that when it comes to their daughters and sons, most mothers are able to find that within themselves!!!
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Your beautifully written piece left me devastated. We don’t think about these things on a daily basis and at the time it feels like we have forever. It was your words “losing that narrative” that brought tears to me eyes. I know it’s hard to maintain but we really should cherish every moment.
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I’m a tad confused why everyone has said this is a beautiful piece. The description of her mother isn’t nice at all??
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I actually think it is. Fiona describes both the wonderful and the difficult qualities of her mum. So many people deify their loved ones in death, and it is a beautiful tribute to her mother that she can remember her with such honesty and truth and love.
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Re-read it love. She doesn’t say her mum is perfect, but people are not. She’s painted us a picture of a real woman, with some faults but some wonderful qualities, most particularly (from reading it) generosity. 4 kids of her own and 17 foster children, for instance, denotes a woman with a lot of love to give. She’s painted us apicture of a real relaitonship, with highs and lows, such as many of us share with our own mums. That’s what people are noticing. Think about your own mum and maybe you’ll understand better.
Peace x
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The mother daughter relationship is a complicated one. My mum is also very controlling and drives me bonkers at times, but I love her to bits and don’t know how I will cope when she’s no longer around to call me: in the middle of my dinner; in the middle of feeding my baby lunch and dinner; at 7am on a Sunday (this only used to bother me before I had a baby when I would actually be asleep at 7am… Oh the memories). I know I will dearly miss these interruptions one day.
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But it is honest and that is what makes it beautifully written. It is Fiona’s story about her mother and the description is real not a hollywood movie. I think Fiona’s description of her mother was wonderful and she sounds like a fantastic lady who had a huge heart and loved her daughter very much.
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This made me cry too! My mum was very close to her own mother and they used to speak on the phone every single day! I remember going to the hospital and watching mum’s mum take her last breath back in 2006. I was very close to my Grandma and I still miss her all the time. Mum says she still comes home from work some days and thinks about things she would like to tell her mother. She said she misses her mother every day, even five years later (and probably always will).
Reading these comments, I feel grateful for two reasons. One is that my mother is alive and healthy. The other is that I have a loving, supportive mother and we have a great relationship. I should feel grateful for these facts because not everyone has this luxury.
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I love this post.
I speek to my mum every single day. I love that she cares for me so much and is always in my camp. She is also the BEST grandma ever to my 2 babies. I cannot even contemplate loosing her – I still need my mummsie.
Dad dies when I was 24. I have never ever stopped missing him, never will and so wish my kids could have met him.
But mum, mum is different – who would I call when I need help cooking, who would I boast to about my kids, who would worry about me looking after myself, eating my greens and driving in the rain?
Mums are everything, thay make the world go round.
Also I think the stuff about weight was a bit about health, perhaps anger that if she were better at looking after her health she’d still be around. Being over weight shortens life, and makes perhaps straightforward illnesses more complicated to treat.
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Whenever I’m feeling down or having some sort of life crisis, I visit my parents.
I don’t even mention my problems, just being around them instantly makes me feel warm and safe.
And that’s what is freeing for me. No matter what I do in life, or how badly I screw up there are always two people that will love me unconditionally and be there for me.