Yesterday, September 6th, 2020 was 32 years since my dad died. My mum sent me a text message, she rarely ever sends me a text; it said, ” hi bonnie girl, my thoughts and love are with you today. Much love Mummy xxx.”
I called her today; this was our conversation:
Me: I don’t grieve over my dad anymore mum. He affected my life in ways that he shouldn’t have.”
Mum: Mine too!
End of conversation…
It speaks volumes about my mum. Everything is about her. Even her daughter being raped repeatedly (3 years) by her ex husband, is about her. She doesn’t hear ‘my’ words, only her own.
After the conversation ended, and as I continued my drive home, I pondered about mother’s. I know so many people who have wonderful mother’s, mother’s who might ask,”tell me what you mean by saying that?,” or, “i know that must have been so hard for you.” Clearly mine is not one of those.
The pondering goes on and on:
Is she this way because of her childhood?
Would therapy have helped her?
Does she ever question why she’s been married 4 times?
Does she miss her kids?
Does she know what that feels like?
Does she have regrets?
Does she feel that her world has been so small?
Does she know she’s a terrible mother?
Does she know that she’s not a mother?
Is your mother a terrible mother?
End of conversation …
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