I’ve been thinking about my mum a lot recently, by a lot I mean more than usual. There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think about her. So I thought about making a blog post about her. I can’t write it all in one go, so it’ll be continued...
My mum past over to the other side on 5th Dec 1974, I was 7, two days before my 8th birthday. She was 31 years young and left behind two daughters, me and my half sister, who at that time I hadn’t meet. Little did I also know at that time i had two half brothers and another half sister on my fathers side. I guess they were under the “do not discuss category” and “least said soonest mended category. I was just a kid, I had to accept their final say. Being older they were, but wiser is debatable.
The events of the evening after mums death, i remember vividly. Mastermind music had started. A loud knock at the door. I followed grandma as she got up to answer it. She opened the door and there stood our neighbour, she wasn’t alone, two police officers were stood with her. A few words were whispered that I couldn’t hear. The neighbour said goodbye and went. The police were coming in. I didn’t like the police, they locked my mummy up once and stole my daddy’s guitar, police were not welcome. I was bustled into grans bedroom, in came grandad to sit with me. I asked why were they here, he didn’t know. Not long after I heard my Aunt arrive, crying my mums name. Grandad still didn’t know what was happening. I don’t know if I knew or if grandad had told me that you could hear in another room if you held a glass to the wall. So there I am, Glass pressed against the wall with me listening. Mary’s dead I heard my aunt say. I seemed more people came, a lot of chattering. Then silence, everyone left and i was taken to bed.
The years that followed were a whirlwind of emotional turmoil. I wanted my mum to come home, maybe if i were naughty she’d come back, she didn’t. Maybe if i cried hard enough she would come home, she didn’t. I can imagine I actually stamped my feet. I was moody, sulked a lot and quite frankly a very sad, misunderstood, unhappy little girl. I used to lay in bed at night, pretending mummy came home, I ‘d run towards her, arms stretched ready to hug her tight. She’d been on holiday and now was back. I would then proceed to cry myself to sleep as she walked away again.
Birthdays were never the same again. Two days after mums death was my usual birthday party. My grandma tried, friends and family for tea, cake, presents. I refused to talk my guests, not playing pass the parcel, stupid games OR opening presents. I sat there, watching my friends enjoying my party. Even though I knew, I asked where was my mummy? why was she not there, she always came to my party. Everyone tried to cheer me up. It just wasn’t going to happen, I sulked the entire time. That was until they all left. This happened for a few years to follow, Once everyone had gone, I would start to sing Little Donkey, open presents and be happy. As the first year of mums anniversary approached, my grandma quite bluntly said, “you know your mum is dead don’t you?” Of course I did, grandad let me listen holding a glass to the wall. did I understand “dead”? No I didn’t. I quietly said yes. That was it, grandma was done talking. I understand now, it must have been hard for her to lose her daughter, but one would have thought then that she wold have been a little more compassionate.
I wouldn’t have known what a funeral was so it all happening without me wasn’t an issue, that is until……….. later years when resentment and anger kicks into play.
To be continued