My mother – redux

Tomorrow was the day my mother died. That was also a Sunday 5th October, and tonight, the Saturday before, we’d spent a lovely and rare peaceful evening with my ex-husband, my two children (one a baby) and his mother. My mum seemed, for once, happy and hopeful.
The next day I passed by for something I can’t remember on our way to somewhere. Everyone looked at me warily as I crossed the lawn. The door was slightly ajar which was unusual. The kitchen was a little messy and the cupboards and drawers open… Also unusual. Someone else came and told me, and I knew nothing more but confusion and chaos, disbelief and pain. I’m sure it’s the same for many who lose a parent. And it’s not like I hadn’t gotten used to people dying. But my main feeling was anger. Anger because it’d happened the day after for the first time I thought I was having a nice enough normal family day. I thought it was the beginning of something, but it was the end. Something I had always always always wanted, and now it was definitely never to be.
A few days ago I was very happily walking back with my dog. I passed a house, on its door a blue ribbon that said: “Qui e’ nato un bimbo” (a baby boy was born bere).
I broke down in tears in an instant, then just as instantly recovered and struggled and breathed and went home and tried to keep the flood of thoughts at bay.
Images had been conjured of Italian relatives coming to see the newborn babe, joy, merriment, confusion, spoiling.
Thoughts came of baby 1 and me being kicked our of the house and homeless, baby two breaking his head and then, less than 2 months later, my mum dying, and baby 3 being born with her guts out and then, a couple of months later, mum in law dying.
Anger surfaced. Unfairness.
My mum died many years ago now. 4 days before my birthday and so it will always be, it was 1997. Many years ago and I am STILL not ok with it, not ok with it at all.


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