One Chance And I Blew It

One Chance And I Blew It

Dear Mum,

 I never told you just how much I loved you and now I cannot.  Born when neither of you expected me, I was a child from another generation.

I should have appeared on the scene twenty years before, but it was the war that brought you and dad together when you both looked dusty on the proverbial shelf.  I often look at your wedding photo.  I don’t know why, but you looked unsure and even a little scared of the future.  My late sister Rosemary appeared around the time the allies marched into Berlin and her health, which wasn’t good set upon you a yoke of immense burdens and obstacles that you bore with strength I never noticed.

Rosemary was a sickly child and even though she survived a spina bifida operation in 1946, her condition (Noonans syndrome) meant that the stares would follow you around the village until we moved to Chelmsford in 1960. Yet your faith and devotion to your children was total and unconditional as a mother’s love can only be.  I arrived as the age of austerity abated and was spoiled by love from both of you.  My father saw me more as a ‘normal’ trophy to be paraded and boasted of; not that I was ever spectacular and no more than anonymous by way of achievement.

I hated those times in Chelmsford when dad came home drunk and belligerent most nights.  I hated the rows and the violence.  Sometimes I wished I’d never been born and then you hugged me.  Rosemary had a counter job at Woolworths and like the loving, doting sister she was gave me pocket money as well as your contributions to my piggy bank. Looking back I was spoiled with love and I couldn’t see it. As soon as I grew wings I flew the nest with not so much as a backward glance.

I became engrossed in my own life and called you up on sufferance.  You needed to talk because after Rosemary’s death you had no one to talk to and I pretended to listen…but I wasn’t and paid scant notice because I thought you never stopped talking.  I would put the phone down and go off to make a cup of tea and come back to find you talking still.  You never even realised I’d gone.

Sure, I brought you grandchildren in your last years, but only on flying visits; for I cared little for the life I’d left behind in Chelmsford.  Not that it was the fault of the town, but the memories that lay within and after dad’s passing you went to Maldon to a home…I never visited.  Sure, we were 300 miles away and busy with work and family on a tight budget; all excuses I silently bore if guilt ever came near.  So when the hospital told me of your decline I paid a brief visit.  I never saw you alive again after that day…

Now I am a new person, but all too late.  I make amends by loving and caring, giving and seeking no praise or reward.  Finally, the world stopped revolving around me and I began to give back all the love I had selfishly devoured.  But for you mum it was too late.  I’ve so much to tell you and so many hugs to give…maybe in Heaven…

To LIlly Irene...Mum…………..wish you were here xxx