I have had an interesting but challenging relationship with my mother. I do adore her. She was gorgeous when she was younger and an outrageous flirt. She is still charming and when she boards a train, she will have the whole carriage spellbound with her chat to strangers, her wit and basic niceness and caring for strangers. When I was a silly kid and my parents were separating, it was expected that I would stay with her, along with my brothers and sisters. But being a rebellious youth who was looking for some cute bloke and dick, I chose to go and live with my father in the (releative) big smoke. My mother argued, insisted, pleaded and begged, to no avail against this head strong youth.
She found a new partner, I found gay, and we just adjusted to each other without talking about it. We have had some reasonable conversations and honesty………but never THE conversation, unlike the one I had with my stepmother.
She is now quite old, past seventy and probably won’t be around forever. She has been quite unwell, and I have been accused by all and sundry as being a neglectful son. It is hard to work out what her serious medical problems are and what are the hypochondria ones and what are the everyday ones.
I guess since she is falling down all over the place, I should have taken it more seriously. I am making an extra effort now.
She is still well enough to bash off for eight hour Sunday drives and tend her garden.
She will probably live for a long time yet.