The end of March and for a Sunday, unusually I am on my own. Adam has just left to meet his sister then head out to together to spend Mothering Sunday with their Mum. It is an annual event and one of just a few days each year that Adam does spend time with his family. We have always had such different views about our birth families, in fact, we couldn’t be further apart on our ways of thinking about them if we actually sat down and tried to be. I find his closeness and need to be in constant contact somewhat alien to me, but I know that is because of my almost none contact situation I am in with my family. Growing up to be isolated as I was in my mid-teens left me permanently disconnected from them, for two years I didn’t even speak to my mother, not because I didn’t try, but because she always found reasons not to have any contact. Then suddenly out of the blue when I was just past my sixteenth birthday, she reappeared as though nothing had happened and wouldn’t even speak about it. When she re-entered my life along came my sister and younger brother, but the pattern was set, contact would continue from then on, but there would be long gaps, times when none of us spoke and times when it felt as though I never had a family at all.
Adam was only 20 when we met and still living at home, his mother lived in Glasgow at the time and I was welcomed into their family from the beginning without any question or reserve. When the day came that we moved into what was our first home, it was then that I realised just how important family was to him, the long phone calls were just a bit of a giveaway, not just once a month, or once a week, at times it was almost daily. Adams family and mine just didn’t compare in any way what so ever. The phone calls still continue but with his mother no longer living in the city and with us not having a car, visits are rare now, so I am more than happy that he has taken today so see her, as she is still an important part of his life. As for my mother, well I can’t even send her a card for mothers day, as my brother still hasn’t replied to my letter telling me her new address, all I know is that she is now in a home and as I haven’t had a phone call to tell me otherwise, she is still alive. Even if I did have her address, I still wouldn’t have sent her a card, as she hates them, so I would just have put myself in further into her bad books than I have spent my entire life. I was brought up to honour my mother and father, which I have always done without question, even though both, but especially my father who is dead now, have given me enough reason to have cut myself clear of them long ago, but they are my parents and I had no choice but to be here when they chose to check on me. As I said, chalk and cheese, definitions of family so far apart that neither of us could possibly totally understanding each others definition of what their family really is.
I built my own family, it started with my children, that goes without saying, I have one adopted brother, Jake and now, of course, I have Adam. Family isn’t to me about birth, family is about feelings and love, neither have anything what so ever to do with blood. My family members have changed over the years, as sadly members that I thought would be with me forever have left, but strangely Adam is the only partner that I have ever included in my list of those who are family, somehow others just never quite made the grade, Adam somehow just walked into my life and straight into my family.
So here I am on Mothers day, writing about the one thing that I sometimes think I know little about, being a mother. Teressa is my pride and joy, she is a daughter that any mother would be proud of and no one who knows both of us could ever doubt the connection if you ignore the height difference she is my mini me, with a nickname from birth of “midget”. I guess that is the point of days like mother’s day, they make you think of everything that connects you to that word, be it your mother, you as a mother or even the mothers of others. Do we need to celebrate them, to give them one day in the year that we remember what they do for everyone, I don’t think so. If you need to be given a date where you make a fuss of them, then I think you have missed the real meaning of what a mother is. The first unwritten rule about being a mother is you care 24/7, 365 days of the year, for life, without question and without needing to be thanked for it at all, as our thanks is just knowing that our children are happy and doing well. Despite everything that happened, all the madness of my marriage to their father, I have all that I even need from them, two adults living their lives surrounded with love and happiness.
I went to bed last night so tired and so close to sleep, that I wouldn’t have been surprised if I had managed to fall asleep whilst still on my feet heading to the bedroom and I woke feeling not much better, having lost an hours sleep thanks to the switch to British summer time. I really wish they didn’t keep changing the time, I know all the reasons behind it but they seem to have totally forgotten the effect of losing sleep has on a small section of the population. I am already planning to have an early night as I know Adam won’t be home until late, so I have the perfect opportunity to get a couple of extra hours without leaving him on his own.
Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 30/03/12 – What Stole Sunday Evening?
For the past few days, I have been avoiding writing about this. I have been doing my usual thing of pretending that if I don’t think about it, it doesn’t matter. The words Ostrich and head come to mind. It doesn’t matter how old you get we all seem to have this silly self-preservation theory, that we all know doesn’t work, be we do it over and over again. To make the Ostrich theory worse one of the points of me keeping this blog is to write all about what is really happening with my health.