After my first son was born my Mum went all bent out of shape. She demanded that I stay with her and not move with my husband and son to Ireland.
And we had no contact for nearly two years. Until I fell pregnant with second son.
Then the voices began. Go home, they said. Go home. There is someone who you’ll never see again.
I listened and obeyed thinking that I’d never see Nan, Anne, Mum’s Mum again. I took baby boy and growing baby.
Mum and I had a great time. She ADORED her grandson and was very excited about another grandchild.
She died 2 months later.
After her funeral I did not see/talk to my Dad for well over a decade. We finally met again at youngest brother’s wedding.
I saw him twice in the next 2 years. Last time was when he was in hospital, dying.
When my brothers and I cleared Dad’s flat afterwards… I found every single birthday/Christmas card that I’d sent him in all those barren years. He’d saved everything from ME.
There’s a thin line between love and hate.
I adore my totally fecked up and discombobulated parentals.
I’ll NEVER have any other Mum and Dad .
And they will NEVER have another totally fecked up and discombobulated me :o)