Only Child - Single Parent - Alone but not lonely
London born and bred, within the sound of the Bow bells - Hackney, not quite the trendy, up-and-coming part of London it's now becoming, a multi cultured, rascist, overcrowded slum. but it gave an otherwise naive child a little street savvy, and made her even more grateful for the beauty and abundance that now surrounds her.
It wasn't always like this. An only child with no father, never having met him. "He" was just a question in the distance that somehow didn't need answering. "Not now, while mum's here"... Of course mum was everything, my world, my security, my life. And a great mum she was, she made me dresses and stitched together identical clothes for my favourite little doll so we could go to school together dressed in the same outfit, a mini version of myself to act out my make believe sister, knowing that she was somehow making up for my lack of sibling to play with and tag along. What a strong woman! She built shelves, fixed washing machines, and mended all other kids bikes when they went wrong, drilled holes in walls and built furniture, jacked up the car and tinkered around under the bonnet till it was working again. Somehow making up for the fact that "dad" wasn't around. And what fun she was too! Roaring laughter and endless stories of when she was younger and the adventures she had.
It wasn't until I got older, that I realised something was amiss. This towering strength of character and independance was hiding something, something that made my life with mum different from all the other families that I knew. She would spend days upon days reading book after book and not see anyone, not answering the door and just lying on the sofa. It didn't seem like everyone elses 'family'. Was it a 'family'? didn't seem like it, not like all the families that spent Christmas together around the table sharing a massive table of food and tree of presents. Mum explained that this was just the movies and that it was more important that we were happy by ourselves, than with a big family that were at war.
I later learned that she was keeping me away from a family secret. Abuse, the worst kind. Sexual abuse. Her father, a 20 stone villain who died of a heart attack before I was born. She'd read enough self help books to know that she didn't want to repeat the chain of events, so she eliminated every element that posed a possible threat to her beloved daughter. The rest of the 'dysfunctional' family including my father. I don't know who he is or what his surname is. it's written 'Unknown' on my birth certificate. I have been separated from other members of the family who were most damaged by what happened during those years before I was born.
Well it seems to have served me well in some sense, but she was burying issues for many years underneath this strong independant surface and she contained it for the length of time that was needed to see me into my teen years. Then it happened, I started living more independantly, going out, doing my own thing, the odd club here and there as most teenagers do. And she must've felt that she no longer needed to keep a lid on things, and the floodgates opened! All the emotion all the pain and suffering that she had endured over the years and had been surpressing just exploded. She had a breakdown. My mum. Strong, fiercely indpependant, funny, amazing Tania. They had to cart her away to hospital as she couldn't cope anymore.
That was the end of my childhood
From then on it was in and out of hospital for my mum. And the worst thing was, she ran rings around the psychiatrists, doctors, social workers, mental health workers -all those damn books she read- she had not an iota of faith in any of them and laughed at their attempts to explain 'just how things should be' she refused medication and revelled in the highs (Crazy manic hyperactive hysterical) and lows (reclusive introverted, despondant, depressed) of her new condition: Manic Depression, or Bipolar as it's now known. This went on for a few years.
She deteriorated
Towards the end she had lost herself and personality beyond recognition. I didn't know who she was anymore. She'd get lost on trains and get picked up by the police and put in hospital in random places. I'd go and collect her.
A bag lady?
My mum!
Then one day the social worker called, I was at work. "Your mum's been in a fire, she's at the Whittington Hospital". I went over, she'd not been burned, but inhaled smoke from the fire. Guess it didn't help that she had become an alcoholic and chain smoked for 40 years of her life, her lungs were in no fit state to recover from the smoke inhalation of a fire.
She deteriorated
Two weeks in intensive care and then she died of Broncho-pnuemonia. Initially it was a relief. I knew she didn't want to be here, and if i was crying for myself there was no crying to be done now, I'd lost her long before she left her physical body. The woman that died was a mere shadow of my real mum, a death that I had mourned long ago, over the previous years was now playing itself out in the physical realms. So instead of begging by her bedside to carry on and stay with us, I just sat in silence and let her go.
There is a happy ending but they are so cheesy, so I'll just leave it there...Unless you want me to add one on?
Chris...??
Story shared: 01/09/2006 00:59:55
#6 View the comments about this story single parent - only child - death - manic depression - nervous breakdown -
Comments
If you felt so bold, i would love for you to add on the happy ending. I created the website for real stories, and although not neccesarily ones that end in happiness and merely work in progress... Happy endings are always good, and it would be lovely to hear more of you as I think you can inspire a huge amount of people who are going through the same.
With thanks and very best wishes
CJ x
x
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