WTF am I writing to you? Simply because you were one of the worst ‘mothers’ to live on this earth.
No-one else in the family was like you. You were spoilt as the youngest in your family. Your older siblings were not like you. You were the attention seeker. Your mother loved you, despite what you became.
You fkd my dad and got pregnant, within a month of meeting him. You married him 5 months later. You took an “overdose” of sleeping tablets at 6 months pregnant. Because you found out my dad was dying. That is what you told me anyhow. The real reason why you did it was because you were greedy. Did you seriously think he was going to inherit a lot of money from his home where he was brought up?
Still, my dad worked. Worked hard. He was a very clever man. Loving dad to me and my sister. You didn’t like his relationship with his daughters. You didn’t like yourself, actually. Because you were the b***h. Not my dad. Not me. Not my sister. YOU.
When he died, he left a house and debts, of which you contributed to. Yet you put yourself first. Started buying very expensive bottles of whiskey. Drank about ¾ of a bottle in one night. This went on for many years. While me and my sister had beans on toast for tea. Greedy, selfish b***h. Then in the same evening, you had to find an excuse to get angry and effectively use violence to get your “anger” out against my dad put onto me and / or my sister. We were young children. YOUR children. We were too young to understand or realise that you were not really angry with my dad. You were angry with yourself. For getting pregnant and being stuck with 2 children.
You didn’t work full time. Chose to drink expensive whiskey instead of cutting back and feeding your children proper food.
I didn’t choose to have you in my life. My dad died. You didn’t. It should have been you. You would have chosen yourself, not your children and not my dad, to live.
A few months after my dad dies, you had pulled my hair and forced me to the floor, and banged my head so hard against the wooden floor. I passed out. My younger sister, watching and powerless. You are a monster. Not a mother.
The neighbours who lived on either side of you are not deaf. They certainly heard the screams from me and my sister when you were really hurting us. In those days, people did not call the police. Did not interfere.
A couple of times, when you took us all to stay with our grandmother, you still drank. A lot. I am a teenager, so is my sister. You had an argument with your mother. That led to you saying to me and my sister to pack as we were going home. NOW. You had drunk too much to drive 2.5 hours to the house where we lived. Yet you still drove the car, with me and my sister in it. You did this TWICE. How can you be so irresponsible and selfish? I wish you had been stopped by the police.
While I was still living at home, after having left boarding school (my dad died a year and a half before I was torn away from my home), I went to college, full time and also got a part time job. I earned the money and saved from my paltry earnings of part time evening work to save up for my first car. I passed my test. Without any driving lessons from you. I saved up my wages to pay for my own driving lessons!
I was still at college when you decided to stop work. You expected me and my sister to pay for the mortgage, food and bills. For another 2.5 years, I put up with your selfish and greedy alcoholic BS.
One night, after you consumed so much fkng alcohol, you stood there in front of me with a meat fork pressing against my throat. I couldn’t move. For the fear. I was 19 years old.
It still didn’t stop you from cutting my face with a whiskey glass. My sister & I were going away to spend a few days with our unconditionally loving and caring grandmother, and you wanted to cause a problem. We still went. My grandmother cried when she saw the cut on my face that you did. I had never seen her cry until this.
One day, I go into work with a black eye. My boss didn’t say a word. He knew. He still took me to the staffroom to make me coffee and that is where we spent all day.
Then one day, I am offered a flat as part of my job (much thanks to my boss). I snatched that opportunity. I didn’t tell you about it. I just started taking all the plastic bags you stored in the kitchen cupboard and packed my own personal belongings into them. After a week of shutting myself into my bedroom (only coming out to have meals with you and my sister or my going to work), you opened my bedroom door and you asked what I was doing. I respond, “I’m leaving home”. You then say “Come let’s talk about this”. I refused and said “Nothing to talk about. I’m leaving”. Within a week, I was gone. I really felt for my sister and worried for her. She eventually left too. She deliberately chose a college far away from you.
There were periods when I didn’t communicate with you. One time it was 6 months. Another time it was 9 months. Both those times, you had written to me, a nasty letter. I didn’t respond. I ignored you. Then you hoovered me back. Again. But I no longer loved you.
My sister met a guy. A guy who dared to challenge you. BIG TIME. You had started hitting my sister. He got hold of you and held you up from the floor, pinning you against the wall and bellowed at you to “Never ever touch her again”. You didn’t. Not after that.
My sister moved North with her family. I also moved North. Left you behind. 100s miles away. Bliss. Utter fking bliss. On my last night in the South, I had to stay with you as you turned up midday to “help” me pack the furniture into the van I hired. You did this on purpose. Yet I stayed with you. Then you drank that night. A lot. Again. Then you started your fking BS again. This time, you chose my dad. You said things about him that was utter lies. I stand up in the room saying “Do not talk about my dad like that. He is not here to speak for himself”. Then I leave to go to bed. Half an hour later, you stagger in (not walked in – too fkng pissed to walk straight), started the BS again.
This time you started saying crap about if you had called the police on me etc. You balked. BIG STYLE when I said “I didn’t ask to be born”. Then I said, we (me and my sister) would have been taken into care. We would have been safer. We would have had a happier life. You left the room. Quietly. After I had finished saying what you needed to hear. That you had refused and ignored for years, after my dad died.
I do not believe you slept that night. At all. The next morning, I ignore you as I make myself a coffee. You say “I don’t know why I do these things”. I respond “It doesn’t matter. I’m used to it” Then you say “It does matter”. Then I say “I’m not talking about it”. Because I didn’t want to listen to any more of your BS.
I left the house within half an hour of waking up and drinking my coffee. Without saying ‘goodbye’ to you.
2 years later, you moved North. FFS.
You always played me and my sister against each other. You hated the bond my sister and I had. You continued to do this fking ‘triangulation’ game into our adult years. My sister & I cottoned on to you. We continued to meet. In secret. Without you. Without including you.
I had therapy for 6 months. One meeting a month with a psychologist. She tells me that I am not the one with the problem. She advised me to write a letter to my ’mother’ and that I didn’t have to actually give it to you.
One day, I come and visit you and I tell you about my therapy sessions. You didn’t know that I was actually getting therapy. I tell you about the letter I wrote. You refused to read it. Just like you would have refused to read this one.
2 years after you moved North, your mother died. My loving and wonderful grandmother, who I loved much more and WAY more than I loved you. You upset me at my grandmother’s funeral. Why?
Because of that, I didn’t speak with you for 6 months.
Then one day you write to me about tickets to a free lunch. You set this up. It was miles away from my home. You chose a hotel miles away. On purpose. It was nearer to your house, than my home. I meet with you. You are grey in pallor. You looked really ill. Your tongue was black. I knew then. I knew that your years of selfish alcohol consumption had caught up with you. I also knew then that there was no going back.
6 months later, ten days before Christmas, my sister calls and says you are in hospital. I went to visit you. Drove in horrendous wintery conditions. It took me 2.5 hours to drive in those windy and rainy conditions. To see you. You tell me that they are doing tests and don’t know what is wrong. I says to you “I have been expecting this for a long time”. You enquire my ‘statement’. I respond “It’s the years of drinking”. You then shouted (your eyes went black, flash of anger) “How dare you!”. I remind you of a conversation that I had with you 12 years before this day, about my concerns for your liver. You had admitted at that time, for the first time ever, that you are an alcoholic. I then tell you that you looked grey when I met up with you 6 months ago. You then say to me “Why didn’t I tell you?” I say “I knew it was too late”. You were in Denial. But FFS trying to put it back onto me. You must have known you were dying. Of alcohol damage to your body. I’m not surprised you shouted. I’m not fazed. I’m not scared of you. I leave moments after that. I’m not bothered, not upset.
Christmas without you. You were stuck in hospital. My sister & I had a great time with her family. It was lovely. No concerns about a piss-head of a “mother” ruining it. It was the most relaxed and only Christmas without you.
I come and see you a week before Mother’s Day. It was a pleasant conversation with you. As if you were “normal”. I visit you on Mother’s Day with my sister and my cousin. You looked very different compared to the week before. You were bloated. Your body was brown (as if you had a very big tan from a holiday – but no, that is your body dying). Your eyes are bloodshot. You had fear in your eyes. You knew you were dying and was scared of it, it was close, very close. I knew it would be the last time I saw you. Yes, my sister & I cried as we left. We didn’t cry for long.
10 minutes before I got a message from my sister about you having died. I knew. I smelt my grandmother and ‘mother’ in the room I was in. I was not sad. Just relieved. You were 57 years old. Drank yourself to death.
“She will be at peace now” my sister says to me.
You never said “Sorry”. Not even when you were on your deathbed. You were thinking about Yourself. As usual.