Mother's Day

You probably think I'm crazy - it isn't actually "Mother's Day" in Britain, France or the US today, it's Father's Day.

But today would have been my mother's day - her birthday. If she hadn't died on 13 August 2003, she would have been 78 today, which sounds amazingly old. I can't imagine her old like that; she was 70 when she died (though she looked like she was about 100 - a barely living skeleton, shrunken skin and bone, no spark in her eyes, no impression that she had any idea of who she was, where she was...) and in my memories of her before she became this other person, this stranger I didn't know, she was pretty much a wild child, a free spirit, obsessed with the moon and the stars, a lover of the sun and nature and birds. An artist in her soul, always sketching, reciting poetry, singing songs.

My mother and I had a strained and distant relationship (I've talked about this before) and she really didn't know me very well. She projected through me, and was disappointed that I didn't have her artistic talent (I'm not bad, but she was good). She became proud of me, but still. I'm pretty sure she considered me responsible for screwing up her life, making her leave the job she loved, making her a lonely, isolated housewife who did nothing to help herself and gradually became bitter.

She loved her birthday, loved being a Gemini, loved being born in the summer, during the season of roses and warmth and long days. She hated the winter months with a passion, was remarkably sensitive to cold for someone born in the north-east of Scotland and brought up in a house with neither heating nor electricity nor running water. She hated the short days.

I've said it before, I know, but I don't actually miss my mother. I miss, instead, the mother I never had, the mother I would have liked to have had, someone to confide in, someone to teach me things, guide me, help me become an adult. She had many qualities, but she failed in those respects, teaching me nothing of the ways of the world, giving me no insight into love and romance, never giving me "the talk", never considering me as anything more than a child.

For all her failings as the mother of a daughter, however, I'm pretty sure she would have made a wonderful grandmother to my little girls, and that is what I miss about her the most, perhaps. The fact that she never got to know C properly (they met twice, once when C was 7 months old, once the day before she died, when C was 19 months old) and never met L at all (she wasn't conceived till just after my mother's death) is perhaps my biggest regret.

But we'll never know what she would have been like. She's been dead for almost 8 years now, and the mother I remember seems a lifetime ago.

Whatever.

Happy Birthday, Mummy. I never forget this day, how much you loved it. It will always be your birthday in my heart.

Mother

Today was Mothers' Day here in France, and I pretty much screwed up. Damn you, Don Draper, and those sexy, manly shoulders and brooding stare...

Yeah, I stayed up waaaaay too late last night, meaning I spent all of today exhausted. I got up late (but before the girls got home all the same), spent far too long making lunch, worked during the afternoon and then napped till supper time. No nice walk into town for an icecream (my original plan), not even a trip to the botanical gardens...

But I received beautiful things from my little girls - made with love. A hand-painted mug (bought at IKEA apparently! How appropriate) and wonderful card from C, a little secrets box and poem and handmade card from L. They also, with D, bought a plant at the Parents' Association plant sale on Friday. It was wonderfully touching and moving. I love these two little girls so much!

I often think of my own mother. I don't miss her (she died in August 2003 after many years of early-onset dementia, and the last 2 or 3 were horrendous: she was completely dependent on my father, had no idea who she was, where she was, who anyone else was...) because we were never really very close. She just wasn't the touchy-feely-cuddly type, and she was certainly never my confidente. But I do miss the mother I never had. I'm so envious of all these people who have a strong relationship with their mother. I miss seeing what kind of grandmother she would have been (I think she'd have been a better grandmother than mother, to be honest). I miss that mythical mother I dreamed of. Don't get me wrong - she loved me, I loved her, our relationship was pretty good. But she had no idea who I was, she hated letting me grow up (and tried desperately to keep me a child. I blame her for my social ineptness - she never taught me anything "grown up", like how to put on make-up, how to talk to boys. She never even gave me "the talk", I had to find out by myself), she resented me for having the life she thought she should have had (a university education) and for spoiling the life she did have (a high-powered personal assistant in a large petrochemicals firm near London, earning good money and having fun in the Swinging Sixties). I'm pretty sure she didn't actually want children at all - my parents were married for 13 years before I was born, and I'm an only child...

No, my mother had no idea what I was thinking, what my dreams were, who I was.

I have no idea what kind of relationship we would have had now if she hadn't developed dementia. I know I would never have wanted her present for the birth of the girls (as I said, no touchy-feely stuff from her), but having her around in the weeks or months that followed might have been nice.

I don't know, it's so hard to say. She was my mother, and she was the way she was. I DO miss her, in some ways, but given how she spent the last few years of her life, I considered her death to be a blessed relief to be honest. She was surviving, technically alive, but for what? She had no life to speak of... I miss some of the fun times we had together (we did have fun together, as long as we remained on neutral ground and never broke down and talked - oh, the horror! - of our feelings and emotions), I miss lots of things about her. But mostly, as I said already, I miss the mother I wish I had had.

In these last few months, when life has been so hard, my strength has come solely from my desire to always do the best I can for my sweet girls. Their love for me, and mine for them, are what keep me sane. I just hope and pray that the relationship I have with them will be better than the one I had with my own mother. I want to be part of their lives, I want to be the person they can talk to, turn to when they need advice or sympathy or just someone who will listen.

Today was Mothers' Day here in France and yes, I screwed up. But the essential was there: my girls and I spent time together, and they love me and I love them. Together, the three of us are strong, united and hopeful. Our future - THEIR future - will be better because of the love we have for each other today.