My Mum
Today the weather was lovely and I have spent a lot of it outdoors, I went for walks and sat down by the river with only seagulls for company. I did a lot of thinking, mainly about the past. Last night I was talking to a friend and the subject of my mother vaguely came up and I guess that contributed but also the fact that Mothers Day is tomorrow, I’ve been ‘reflecting’ and the sad truth is I can’t remember many happy memories involving my mum when I was young. Unfortunately I remember a heck of a lot of rows. And I mean, a lot. Almost all of them involved my mum.
I remember items being thrown across the room. I remember her hitting one of my relatives to the floor. I remember the cruel exchanging of words between my parents. I remember crying under a table on Christmas Day after yet another row. I remember the threats. I remember everyday I came home from school I dreaded walking through the door, and I’d listen before I went in, to see if there was a row in progress. I remember screaming at the top of my lungs begging the rowing to stop. I remember the day my mum left for good. My dad and mum were arguing in her bedroom, as she was packing her things to leave, I ran up the stairs and tried to stop her and my dad said to me “you don’t want to know what your mum wanted to do when she heard she was pregnant”. To this day I don’t know what he meant, and I don’t want to ask, I can guess. I remember when she left, I ran after her down the street, screaming and pulling her sleeves trying to get her back. I didn’t have any shoes or socks on, I didn’t care.
The atmosphere was tense at home. Sure, there were days when there weren’t rows but more often than not, there were. It was like a bomb waiting to explode and every day, I was waiting for something to kick off, hoping it wouldn’t. My mum moving out was probably the best thing that could have happened… no way could we all live under the same roof. Arguments carried on between my mum and dad with me in the middle. Torn between the pair of them. Although to be honest I know it sounds horrible but I have always prefered my dad over my mum, and my step-mum was more of a real mum to me.
I very rarely heard from my mum, but since I turned 18 we’ve been in more contact. We get on now, but that mother-daughter bond that should be there, isn’t. It’s strained. I do love her but I dunno… I wish we got on better than we do but I don’t think it’s going to happen. We’re going out for a meal tomorrow anyway for Mothers Day. I just hope the subject of my “grandad” doesn’t come up, because that always results in an arguement between us.
And to confirm, yes, my dad, real mum, step-mum and I all lived under the same roof… Hard to believe a step-mum AND biological mother would. I did live with my mum and “grandad” for a short time after I was born, but he treated both of us terribly and my dad and step-mum said we could move in with them, and that’s how it all started. My step-mum practically took me as her own, I think my real mum was ‘relieved’ as I was off her shoulders… she wasn’t ready for a child. Anyway, that’s another story for perhaps another time. I just needed to rant for a bit.