Facebook is awash with this stuff, about mothers and fathers, daughters and sons, nieces and grandchildren, and so on.  And it all seems very nice, but here’s a thought…

Have you said this directly to the people concerned?  On their personal timeline, or as a private message, or maybe even face to face?  And if I don’t share it, does this mean I don’t love whoever?  And for those with troubled histories, how painful a reminder is this?  And I should be ashamed if I don’t, or cannot, share?

So spare a thought for those who can’t  just share!  My mother was a paid-up card carrying Narcissist, (no, it wasn’t her fault, nothing was ever her fault), but for some reason I grew up trying to please her, trying to win her love, and, strangely enough, found a series of similarly narcissistic partners with whom I constantly played out the same scenario!  It wasn’t until my 60’s I finally came to like myself, and actually realise, that with all my flaws, I was enough! 

My mother never told me she was proud of me, or that she loved me.  Apart from sport, I was actually pretty good at most stuff that I did, and she got lots of compliments from others about me.  And that was all very nice for her, and just went to show her what a wonderful mother she was; after all, wasn’t the family doctor (who was like God in those days) always telling her that she had ‘an over-developed maternal instinct’.  Well apparently he did tell her that, as she constantly reminded all of us kids, ad infinitum.

My mother was a martyr.  Nothing was good enough for her, she married below herself, and her children, well, they just hurt her.  Our marriage break-ups, accidents, illnesses, were all designed to bring her pain, that was what happened when you had ‘an over-developed maternal instinct! And she was glad that her poor mother, whom she missed so terribly wasn’t alive to see how badly we all treated her!

Poor Mum.  I used to ache for her because I thought that she had had such an unhappy life.  Towards the end I worked so hard to try and do loving things for her, to arrange things I thought would give her pleasure.  And I am sure that she did enjoy them, but she  never expressed gratitude.  And, in the end, when the doctors told her that her time was very short, she just said, “Well, I’ve had a good life”, and that was that.  She didn’t ‘cry her eyes out,’ as my sister thought; in fact, I think she actually enjoyed all the attention she was getting.  She was the star of the show, she had doctors and nurses waiting on her hand and foot.  She was not interested in any of the things she had done all of her life, not books or needlework or her clothes or jewellery or family photos, at last it was just her, centre stage, and it suited her perfectly.  I ran in and out of the hospital twice a day, and a couple of weeks before she died she said to me once, “I’m lucky to have a daughter like you.”  I’m not sure what she meant, whether it was just because of the service angle, but I hung onto that for a long time, like a starving woman savours the least morsel.

She preferred being the centre of attention.  At our rare family gatherings which were always a bit fraught at the best of times, if everything seemed to be going swimmingly at the dinner table and the siblings were involved in lively conversation, perhaps other family friends were there, she would have to do or say something outrageous or ridiculous, to grab back the attention.  It was her ‘look at me’ moment, and occurred many times.

Nobody was good enough for us: our partners, our friends, she had a knack for always focusing on the negative in people. And she had a knack for saying something to embarass in front of others.

I now spend my thoughts of her on trying to forgive her, forgive both my parents, as they say that we should do.  Especially if I hope for my children to forgive me for my failures towards them, which I know exist.

They say we should forgive our parents, because they were only flawed human beings, and that they just did the best that they could with what they had.  Intellectually, I know this to be true.  I know that unforgivess hurts the bearer, and can lead to bitterness.

I’m not there yet.  Sometimes the bitterness does rise up, because she always claimed to be such ‘a good mother’.  I don’t have the same conflict with my father, because, well, he just was not really a part of my life, even though he was there.  But with my mother, she just overwhelmed the whole picture of my childhood. I even shared a bedroom with her up till my early teens, when the local carpenter blocked off part of the verandah and I got my own space.

I guess the real clincher is that she would even not think that I had anything to forgive her for!  And so, it’s an ongoing journey for me, to find a way to this forgiveness.  I am not sure that I will make it.

So, next time you post one of these “Share If” commands…just think of the pain it can arouse in some of us, or perhaps share it DIRECTLY with the person it is for, after all, isn’t that the most important thing? Tell them to their face that you love them, are proud of them.  Do it quietly, and intimately, with them while they are still alive.  I wish that my mother could have done that with me!