Reflection

It is strange that I should write a blog as I did yesterday about mama time as that is something that I never related to.

My relationship with my mother was strained and not a happy one. I did look forward to visiting her but these were never that great and I always left feeling worse than when I had arrived. Pam died in 2016 and occasionally I miss being able to call her to tell her something, though I never discussed my problems or anything of my heart with her, so that in itself is strange.

I guess my whole life I was wanting Pam’s love and acceptance. I think she did love me towards the end when she reflected on her life, or maybe she always did, but judging from the communication I have had with her since she passed over, I believe she had a lot of regrets about how she treated me. Looking back, I think Pam probably suffered from depression. Her second child died from hydrocephalus at five months, her third child was born two months prematurely and required a lot of extra work and then I came along when that one was only 15 months old. She did tell me shortly before she died how she struggled to cope when my brothers and I were little.

I remember asking her questions when she was cooking tea and her angrily telling me to go away as she was busy. Even a question was too much for her when the pots were boiling.

Pam’s anger surfaced frequently. I do wonder what had caused this. Was it the depression or something more deep-seated? Reconnecting with my cousin a few months back, it appears his mother carried anger as well so I wonder if it had been anything to do with their childhood or the fact they were just leaving school as World War 2 broke out and they were never able to fill their occupational dreams. But in saying that, my cousin’s mother did train and work as a nurse. My own mother was drafted into the bank to help her father who was the bank manager. Many of the men had gone to war, and were not available to fill these positions. My mother was bright and would have loved to have gone to university.

And then of course, she married a man so much older than herself. Perhaps that contributed to her unhappiness as well.

My brother sent me a photo last night of my mother and two of her sisters that must have only been taken about 10 years ago, perhaps the spur behind today’s blog. Two have since died, leaving only one of them still living. I looked at this photo and saw myself in two of these women, both thick set like me, while the third, who never married, carried a leaner frame. My grandfather was a tall, thick set man, of Scottish descent while my grandmother was lithe and of Irish heritage. As I looked into their faces, I still saw my mother’s anger, but my feelings towards her are now neutral, rather than evoking an unpleasant sensation as they once did.

When I hear other people talking about the positive relationships they have had with their mothers, I feel regret that I never had that. I always wonder how my life would have been if I had had a nurturing relationship with Pam.

I tried really hard with my own children not to repeat her behaviour with them. I am close to all of them and I know they look forward to seeing me as much I do to them so I think I have succeeded in that front. I would like to think that when they look at pictures of me in the future, the image will bring back happy and loving memories.