MY MOTHER

If ever...

If ever things would have been very different...

She was born in a very caring family, and she adored her father.
He died when she was 11, and it sure has created a life-lasting trauma.

She went through WW2, when our country was suffering heavily under the occupation.
From the stories she told, she experienced a good time: dancing and having the fun many young people of her age had, but also sufferend the bad war time experiences.
Her street was bombed, and her mother caught shells in her leg.
And she was severely traumatised when her school was fully hit and many children and teachers died.
She survived, because the butger, who had a shop nearby, pulled her from under the rubble.
She has never forgiven him.

I always thought her negative attitude came from that time, but her mother told me that she was never content with whatever she got, even when she was a toddler.

She always had "two faces".
When she started dating she had fun bringing the boy to buying gifts for her.
But when he couldn't give her the box of chocolates in time, she dropped him.
She had a long list of dates and former boyfriends.
When it was my fathers turn to come under her spell, it was war, and he disappeared to england.
I guess that made her persistent in wanting to have him.
When he came back he just couldn't give her what she wanted. And she didn't get all the attention she wanted, because he had to face his war-experiences and had to help his family to built a normal life again.
But she pushed him into applying for a good job.

They married and 2 years later she was, unwanted, pregnant...
of twins.
I know I had an older twin brother, but he's never spoken about. So I don't know anything at all. Just that he has died, before or during birth.

I nearly died too.

I was lying in a little hospital bed near her bed, when my dear grandmom came to visit.
She had a look at me and I was not breathing.
She called for the doctor while she tried to revive me.
I had oxygen for days.

My mother must have been very disappointed with life.
She so often called me an unwanted child, that I still doubt if people really want me in their lives.
It makes me take less initiative than I otherwise would take, and I often question myself.
Maybe I'm very hesitant in relationships with men, because of that too. I just don't know.

She mistreated/abused me, physically and psychologically, already when I was a young child and she kept on doing so for many years. First with her hands, later with what her hands caught.
She could slap me in the kitchen, go to answer the doorbell and be nice, come back and slap me in the face, and go back to be nice.

I tried to tell people about being abused, but none cared to listen. They thought it was a childhoodphantasy.

My father and grandmother tried to stop her, but for some unknown reason I never told them how bad it was.
Maybe I was afraid about loosing them.

When I was 7 my mother got another baby. She said it was against the wishes of the doctors, but I don't know why.
My sister was born, I was allowed to hold her when she was baptised (no mad faces in the family...), and then I was send to a children's home at the other side of the country. Partly because I was malnourished.

Luckily my teacher reacted great when I came back, and I had always my grandmother to turn to.

My sister was everything for my mother.
I tried to work hard at school, and did my best at my dad's choir and at other musical opportunities.
I was choosen to go to the balletacademy, but my mother didn't want me to go.

Her influence on the decions was huge.
She wanted me to go to university to study english, so I did, because she threatened to withdrew the money.

There I met a lecturer who told me I was doing absolutely the best of my year, but he thought I had other talents too.
I really wanted to become a midwife, but one needed to live in another town, and there was none who could pay for that.
So I went to study psychology and did a lot at the faculty of medicine too.

Ofcourse I started to work, and thus became independent from my mother.

When we had a talk about that she tried to discuss the childhood abuse. But I didn't think her excuses would change anything at all, considering how she reacted after she had given her excuses to other people.

I moved out, and she never visited.

When I had weddingplans suddenly she changed her attitude.
She was interested, and when my aunt offered her couch, she offered to pay the weddingdress.
She showed me a pot with quarters. That was the money for the weddingdress.
If she had to save money that way, I wouldn't have said anything and would have appreciated it very much.
But she already had bought a very expensive ensemble with a very expensive hat to wear at the wedding, and I sincerely doubted if those quarters would be enough to buy the dress I dreamt off.
So I told her I didn't want a dress from quarters (leftovers), but a dress that would be properly paid.
So my dad jumped in and told me he would ensure the dress would be paid in a normal way.

Then I was told that her part of the family would come to dinner, and ofcourse Jim's parents and brothers. And we could bring in two friends.
No, not each...that would be far too expensive....

Here we can't elope, otherwise I would have....

So after a lot of arguing and such I ended up sleeping at home for two weeks (to make it real to the neighbourhood), allowing her complete family to be present at the dinner, one friend of Jim, and I explained my friends why I wasn't inviting any of them.
I'm me, not my mother's daughter.

I was lucky the priest of the church recognised I was from an old family, and he offered the large choir, with two soloists... and the red carpet. LOL!
And as we couldn't afford a reception, we were allowed to use the church garden for photo's and after that we were allowed to meet our friends in front of the church.

The wedding itself was nice, I didn't like my dress, hated the hat, and it started to rain just before we got into the car, so that was great.
But the place where we had our dinner was not well informed, so the weddincake was eaten...except for 2 pieces...
eaten by bride and groom... and the priest, who enjoyed my mother feeling completely insecure if he would stay for dinner or not! LOL!

At the wedding I fullfilled her dream, and it felt like she was the centre of attention, not we, the couple.

Ofcourse we resumed our studentlives after the wedding, but she came to visit whenever she needed coffee. Commenting on the room, and about everything else.
Asking for grandchildren.

When we finally had overcome infertility (!!!) and a move to an appartment with much more room, I got pregnant.
Living up to her expectations, untill two weeks before birth.
I just couldn't bring myself bycicling through the snow to bring our weekly (ughhh!) visit.
I took the bus and arrived half an hour earlier. She didn't open the door.
so I put my comb in the mailbox as proof I had been there and went home.
Won't tell you what I row we had...

Both families were elated my first born was a boy.
I didn't even know people were so fixated on having a boy as firstborn. I thought that was in the past. LOL!

When he got yellow, I was told that I was feeding him the wrong way. Not by the nurse, but by my mother.
Luckily I knew better, but there was no pink cloud to sit on, only a black hole to drop in when she was around.
At last I asked the nurse to take her apart and explain everything about little babies and seeing yellow.

My mother only asked me if that nurse thought she was stupid or so.LOL!

When he was pabtised they were all dressed up. My sister should have held him, as the family tradition rules, but whenever he was in her arms he started crying as hard as he could. LOL!


At mothersday we were expected early in the morning.
It was completely forgotten that I was a mother now and should be given some space to get presents too.
We were far too late to arrive in time. A friend helped us out by bringing us to the corner of the street by car, and we walked to the house.
Only to be told we should have been better in time and how on earth could we have been by buss as the bus passed ten minutes ago.
We said something about the pram, but she just didn't listen.
I felt like leaving, instead of sitting up and eat at command, but I didn't want to upset the family. (As always....)

The baby cried all afternoon... and all they did was asking me what I was doing wrong!

I finished university with a baby on my arm.
When I got my university diploma, she wasn't present.
My dad told me she was yealous.
Whatever it was, I was happy he was proud of me.

I got pregnant again and she complained she wasn't part of my life as other mothers were of the live of their married daughters.
So I asked her to come along to buy a baby blanket. We still have to go.

My gram had a severe stroke and she didn't inform me. Although she knew my gram and I were very very close.
(Maybe her way to get my gram punished for telling her to stop abusing me???)
Luckily I was informed and was able to go.

Then I gave birth and my baby died the second day.
Later it turned out my little girls was burried at the wrong place, but all my mother did was complaining the grave wasn't kept well.
In a way she was right, as another baby had been burried in that grave too.

She told me that a not well kept grave was only adding to her grief and that she would take over all concerns about the grave.
Ofcourse that ended in a big row. For the first time I told her where the door was. Telling her that a grandmother should grief both over her grandchild and over the pain of her child, but that only she did was considering herself the centre of everything.

Half an hour later my dad came back. He had told her he was going to do some shopping, but in fact he came to comfort me.
We had a good talk and when I was asking about the grave it turned out it was on the wrong place. (I hadn't been able to be present at the graveyard when she was burried).
Two weeks later she was burried again at the right place. A grave only for herself.

During the time I thought I had failed as a mother and the future looked on big large black hole I didn't get much support.
Some friends tried, and I'm forever grateful for their help, as it made clear that I didn't get even the minimal support from my family, nor husband.

I felt I either had to drown in life or take matters in my own hands.

After careful consideration I didn't want to put my life on halt, but get pregnant again.
All she said was: "How can you do that to me?".
It felt like a door was closing.
She didn't turn up when the baby was born, but only the second day, without anything. "With two children you will be too bussy to enjoy flowers."
I sure had some explaining to do to the other mother with whom I shared the room.

I never got any help, and when I miscarried some time later, I was glad I didn't have to deal with her way of dealing with matters.

Criticism went on and on, untill the first child was old enough to go there for an afternoon. (Meaning he could tell afterwards about it.)
He was a well behaving child, and always having a good mood.
When he came back he cried and cried. When he finally got quiet he told me about het behaviour towards him when my father wasn't around and I decided never ever to have her babysit again.

When my father was dying I never had the chance to be alone with him. Luckily an uncle jumped in and he told her he wanted to speak with her alone, and I could better sit with my dad for a while.
It was the last real private talk with him before he died. I just had enough time to ask who had to be informed (he had some friends from the war my mother didn't like), and to tell him I loved him.
While hugging him I hurt him, and I felt so sorry about that.
But it was all a consequence of trying to be close to each other in just a few minutes.

The last two days I stayed at home to help.
She cared more for the furniture not getting stains, than for dad being comfortable.

The last hours I dealt with the doctor, and I was present when they came to bring him to the morgue. Well, I was perfectly OK with that.

Soon after dad died she threw everything away. I got some of his clothes, but nothing I could keep with me, like a ring or so.
She moved out of town and I felt a huge relief. No forced visits and above all, no criticism on things that don't matter.

After a few years she moved back and came to live 5 minutes on the bycicle away.
She asked me to be her cleaninglady and I told her it's never good to work for your own family that way. And apart from that: I had two babies that were not even a year old, and 4 other young children.
Before two months were passed matters were just like they had been before. She had rows with my sister on and off, called me to complain about my sister and my aunt, and about me.
We started to do her groceries, but whenever something was 5 pennies more, she wanted to be consulted for approval. It became so bad that we weren't even able to get our groceries in on saturdays.
I tried to keep my visits irregular, because I wanted to keep some freedom.
She called me very regularly, for hours on end. Always complaining. I tried to keep it positive, but I couldn't.
When I had to have a hysterectomy it became very clear she didn't care at all. She didn't even offer to help out with the children. Just told to send one of the boys to get the groceries.
Ofcourse I knew not to expect any understanding from her part, but how I would have loved to have a real caring mother.

Then it became clear that Nyo was autistic. I tried to tell her, but she told me straight in the face that I had to be a better mother and make him listen and learn.
The same happened when it was clear Thami has ADHD and is dyslectic. She told me in the face again that was just nonsence.

In the past she had been harrassing me by phone. Calling in the middle of the night. Drunk.
She started to do it again after she moved in town.
More and more I pulled out the plug in the evening, when I didn't expect anymore calls from friends. And we got an answering machine.
But ofcourse I got enough calls to deal with. Like when I inherited a non-functioning old clock, worth about 30 dollar. She told me my aunt was jealous, untill I offered to give it to my aunt.
I came more and more to the point that I wasn't be able anymore at all to feel some compassion with someone struggling with life.
I felt bad, felt guilty, felt a bad daughter, felt lonely, depressive and everything else.
And then she did what she had done in the past a couple of times. I had told her that when it would happen once more I would stop having contact.

She called at midnight and I wasn't able to get to the phone quick enough, so the answering machine took the call.
She was badmouthing me in a very bad way and it started to be worse and worse.
I took the phone and asked her if I could help her with something. Maybe she was drunk or needed glucose or a doctor.
She told me she was fine. Was not drunk, and had checked her glucose at midnight (something she alsways did when she was awake) and it was OK.
Nothing was the matter with her, but I needed to know what she was thinking about me.
She started badmouthing again and it didn't stop. All the time the answering m,achine had been running and even when I put the phonbe down it went on. She didn't even know I was gone.
I put out the sound of the phone.
That night she called over and over again untill about half past three, when the tape of the answering machine finished.
Maybe she even called past that time...I don't know.

Next morning I went through all sorts of feelings again. Maybe this was wrong with her, or maybe that.
I called her doc to inform him, told my aunt matters were beyond repair, and wrote her a letter telling her that I wasn't able anymore to deal with matters like that.
But I left an opening...

No excuse followed, but a couple of weeks later about the same happened.
My two oldest boys were downstairs and they couldn't believe their ears.


After some time now I'm still amazed that I feel sorry for her.
There's still a little voice asking me if it wouldn't be better to take up contact again.
But what good can I do to her?
I can't deal with matters anymore. Can't deal with her criticism. Can't deal with the way she treated the children. Ignored them.
I'm the black sheep of the family (black is beautiful. LOL!).
I can forgive her that she never has been a mother.
But I can't understand there's always a feeling I could have done with one.
I completely went in tears when a friend wrote on mother's day that she went to her mom and they both had a big hug and were so happy with each other.

How different things could have been when she only once had told me she was proud of me.
Or when she had done something for the children just because she loved them, and not because other people could see.

Some months ago my sister called that she had fallen.
It was like a large claw was chooking me.
I felt bad for feeling so and struggled with acting like I should and offering help, and keeping the distance I need.
I wrote a nice card, telling her I couldn't cope with another household on my shoulders.
I still feel I failed.

I got a nice card back and I found myself distrusting the tone of it. She was always nice when she needed me to come, and then jumped on me with her negativity.

After the fall she moved to a care home. One that has the policy not involve family in any way.

Now I'm asking myself what to do when they call she is dying.
She will never ever say sorry. She doesn't realise she is using me to vent the bad part of herself.
I should have stood up against her when I was a child.
I should have gone to the ballet academy against her wishes.
But thinking this doesn't change anything. And I got my ballet-education anyway.
And maybe it would have made matters worse.
She over and over told me when I was a little child that I was unwanted.
When a pretty little girl, with curly blonde hair, that loves to dance and sing and is adored by everyone, doesn't soften the heart of the mother, what else does?
That little girl in me still would love to have a caring mom.
But she's far in the past, and I'm not that little girl anymore.

So I'm trying to be a good mother to my children. I love and I care. And I question myself if I'm positive enough to them, giving them enough freedom to be the person they are and need to become.

Maybe I'm making up to life for what my mother couldn't do, as my children need a lot of care and attention. And I give it all.

I'm sorry I haven't been able to give them a caring grandmom.
They could have done and could do with a lot of unconditional care and attention.
Well, who knows what surprises lie ahead in the future.