LJ Idol Season 10, Week 11 , The Blue Hour
I never had the best relationship with my mother.
I loved her, of course I did, and she loved me. I know that now, although it took a while.
I came too soon you see. She was sixteen years old when she fell pregnant. Too young to be a mum, but there I was. She and my father cut their teeth on me. I was the mistake that they learned their lessons from. It didn’t help that I was a difficult child. Demanding, croupy, forever exerting my needs with a voice that shook the walls. My brother was a different matter, born five years later he was the golden child from the beginning. He was planned, he was perfect, everyone loved him. Even me.
And so, the lines were drawn. I quickly became a daddy’s girl, John became a mummy’s boy. It settled smoothly with little event other than some minor jealousy on my part, at least until my teen years, when the wrong kind of boy brought out my rebellious streak. As if it had always been bubbling underneath, our uneasy truce descended into screaming. Harsh words and unforgivable taunts that left an indelible mark on each of our hearts. Even after that stage, when I met the right kind of boy and settled down, things remained just a little on the rocky side.
Dont get me wrong. We didn’t hate each other, we just never truly understood each other. Our relationship was different from the ones we had with others. She never kissed me goodbye, or hugged me hello. Those small affections were saved for my father, brother and when he came along, my son. Her second golden boy.
My son did a lot to strengthen our relationship. She loved him, fiercely, completely - they clicked in a way she and I never had. We came together in our mutual adoration for the tiny little boy that changed our lives. We learned we had more similarities than differences. Becoming a mother helped me see things with a kinder eye. But there was still always such an uneasy line. A truce that held only when there was no turbulence. One day we would be fine, the next, more screams, curses, tears and silence.
Perhaps it would have always remained that way, if cancer hadn’t come knocking. It had visited once before and she had beaten it off with fierce resilience and grim determination. This time, we knew from the beginning that it was different.
It took me months to see her getting weaker, far longer to accept that we would soon lose her.
Time became a loud, ticking clock, counting down the hours we had left. The fighting stopped, it seemed pointless in the wave of what we were fighting together. We had a mother daughter spa day for the very first time. We went out, spent time together, sometimes even without my son as a buffer. As she grew weaker the outings stopped and were replaced with long chats and midnight feasts. In the wee hours of the morning we would confess our deepest fears, laugh over our favourite jokes. Her reliance on me which would have once felt suffocating, now felt exactly right.
When she finally left, I was curled up next to her. She had spoken her last words only hours previously. She had cradled my grans face in her hands and whispered that she was beautiful, before turning to my brother and saying, ‘I love you’ it was the first time in thirty-seven years that my heart realised and accepted she meant us both, the words were just easier to say to him. To the boy who was the mirror of the man she loved. Words she struggled to confess to the girl who resembled her so much. She was never as good at loving herself as she was at loving others.
She went too quick. I live now with the knowledge that I’ll likely spend more of my life without her, than I had with her. It took me so long to accept but she left me with the knowledge that I was loved. I know that no-one will ever love me quite the same way again.
But I refuse to dwell in regret. Whenever I feel down or low, whenever I miss her or feel like the memory of her is slipping away, I remember those moments we shared as the blue hour approached. The giggles, the belly laughs, the midnight feasts and the secrets shared.
I remember that I was loved.
And so was she.
This has been my entry for therealljidol
I loved her, of course I did, and she loved me. I know that now, although it took a while.
I came too soon you see. She was sixteen years old when she fell pregnant. Too young to be a mum, but there I was. She and my father cut their teeth on me. I was the mistake that they learned their lessons from. It didn’t help that I was a difficult child. Demanding, croupy, forever exerting my needs with a voice that shook the walls. My brother was a different matter, born five years later he was the golden child from the beginning. He was planned, he was perfect, everyone loved him. Even me.
And so, the lines were drawn. I quickly became a daddy’s girl, John became a mummy’s boy. It settled smoothly with little event other than some minor jealousy on my part, at least until my teen years, when the wrong kind of boy brought out my rebellious streak. As if it had always been bubbling underneath, our uneasy truce descended into screaming. Harsh words and unforgivable taunts that left an indelible mark on each of our hearts. Even after that stage, when I met the right kind of boy and settled down, things remained just a little on the rocky side.
Dont get me wrong. We didn’t hate each other, we just never truly understood each other. Our relationship was different from the ones we had with others. She never kissed me goodbye, or hugged me hello. Those small affections were saved for my father, brother and when he came along, my son. Her second golden boy.
My son did a lot to strengthen our relationship. She loved him, fiercely, completely - they clicked in a way she and I never had. We came together in our mutual adoration for the tiny little boy that changed our lives. We learned we had more similarities than differences. Becoming a mother helped me see things with a kinder eye. But there was still always such an uneasy line. A truce that held only when there was no turbulence. One day we would be fine, the next, more screams, curses, tears and silence.
Perhaps it would have always remained that way, if cancer hadn’t come knocking. It had visited once before and she had beaten it off with fierce resilience and grim determination. This time, we knew from the beginning that it was different.
It took me months to see her getting weaker, far longer to accept that we would soon lose her.
Time became a loud, ticking clock, counting down the hours we had left. The fighting stopped, it seemed pointless in the wave of what we were fighting together. We had a mother daughter spa day for the very first time. We went out, spent time together, sometimes even without my son as a buffer. As she grew weaker the outings stopped and were replaced with long chats and midnight feasts. In the wee hours of the morning we would confess our deepest fears, laugh over our favourite jokes. Her reliance on me which would have once felt suffocating, now felt exactly right.
When she finally left, I was curled up next to her. She had spoken her last words only hours previously. She had cradled my grans face in her hands and whispered that she was beautiful, before turning to my brother and saying, ‘I love you’ it was the first time in thirty-seven years that my heart realised and accepted she meant us both, the words were just easier to say to him. To the boy who was the mirror of the man she loved. Words she struggled to confess to the girl who resembled her so much. She was never as good at loving herself as she was at loving others.
She went too quick. I live now with the knowledge that I’ll likely spend more of my life without her, than I had with her. It took me so long to accept but she left me with the knowledge that I was loved. I know that no-one will ever love me quite the same way again.
But I refuse to dwell in regret. Whenever I feel down or low, whenever I miss her or feel like the memory of her is slipping away, I remember those moments we shared as the blue hour approached. The giggles, the belly laughs, the midnight feasts and the secrets shared.
I remember that I was loved.
And so was she.
This has been my entry for therealljidol