Brian – We call him Bro

Together, they have shared 27 years of living in sin (as my mother would say) and if I am to remain authentic and honest, for the past few months, I have just about tolerated him.

The most frustrating, stubborn and controlling man I know and also a man that has been in my life longer than my father was and who gave me so much love.

His words often do so much damage to my mother’s mental health well being and then in turn, her acid tongue would throw as much back and in more recent months, the idea of moving abroad felt like an escape from their unhealthy yet somehow committed relationship.

For months, I’ve been plagued with my own guilt at the thought of leaving them both.

My brother’s have never really liked him that much and in some way, he is just another version of my father only his addiction was food not drugs.

A massive man who weighed 28 stone at one point.

As a child, he was born into poverty, the kind of life where beds were shared with siblings, food was not plentiful and shoes were full of holes. His mother was abusive and life was extremely hard.

She ran off with another man without saying any goodbyes.

The youngest of four and a promising footballer who played for the England boys team as a teenager, his dream was to make it at a professional level. At age 19, whilst working a summer job with his brother on a farm, there was a terrible accident and he was trapped under a tractor.

The accident robbed him of his young healthy body and in turn gave him a life full of immense pain and disability and food filled the hole of where his dream once lived, self hatred ravaged his mind and he was told that he would never walk again.

He defied the odds, even walking into the ambulance two weeks ago, at the age of 77 with a semi smile on his face and telling both Mum and I that he loved us.

I now understand how desperately he tried to be a father figure to me and I wouldn’t let him in, I couldn’t-there was too much about his nature that I despised at times and on the other side of that, I have always known how much he loves me and has always been there when I needed help along the way, telling me often;

“It will come right in the end.”

Funny how you forget those times when you are so wrapped up in anger.

I hope he will forgive me…

Why did I leave it too long to tell him that I am so grateful for everything and that I am so sorry for the times that I chose not to forgive him-for the times that I too, was so incredibly stubborn.

After much back and fourth with his medical team, ranting and raving at the lack of communication, lack of support and lack of updated information, I finally arrived at his hospital bedside unannounced.

What I found was heartbreaking.

He was incoherent, rambling, soiled, unable to reach his drink as his table was too far away. His mouth was dry and sticky and he was semi lying on his back which is impossible for the pain in his spine. I tried to talk to someone but they were all too busy. I desperately needed answers and eventually the nurse who has been ‘dealing’ with him, arrived at his bedside and still, unable to answer my questions, told me that I needed to talk to the doctor.

After 50 minutes of waiting and nursing him myself, the Doctor finally came and told me that his kidneys are now failing too.

Within two weeks, I am now watching a yellow man die in front of me. His body is struggling with a large mass on his liver which has spread to his lungs. The fluid which is bypassing his damaged kidneys and liver, is now filling up his stomach.

He is so weak and sick.

I literally can not bare him being so frightened and disorientated.

He pleads with me to take him home over and over again.

The pain from all directions is absolutely suffocating.

I pray that he will fall asleep and gently pass and that his suffering will end.

I pray that he knows how much I love him.

I pray for forgiveness.

©All Rights Reserved – The boy in the chip shop 2019-20

I am searching deep within myself to find some answers and I am also drowning in managing it all. Doctors, nurses, social workers, carers, mother, my family, his family, emotions and so on… its tough

the earth we share

https://www.azquotes.com/quote/768517

We need each other as we need the earth we share…

Early this morning, I commented on an Instagram post of a complete stranger.

Normally, I sit back and watch how a conversation goes, reading all the different posts and only write something if I feel moved enough to give an opinion.

The post began with the words-ALL White people are racist not some, not just White supremacists, ALL. The White people who think they aren’t racist, or have done enough work to not be racist are actually the MOST racist because they are the most entitled.

The lady who wrote the post was a life coach.

The words stopped me in my tracks.

Am I seen to be the most racist?

Am I seen to be the most entitled?

I see people, ALL PEOPLE for who they are not what color their skin is and I am struggling with accepting the above statement.

My life’s work has been about helping people move out of the dark into their light. It’s been about helping people overcome pain and resistance in order to live a more enriched life. I’ve taught about equality and brought my children up to embrace all people and to come from a place of kindness and acceptance.

I responded to the post with loving words and having the freedom to speak and was met with hostility, judgement and anger.

Am I being ignorant?

Forgive me if I am… that is not my intention.

I support Black Lives Matter and I also support the fact that All Lives Matter.

I support diversity.

WWW.STOREMYPIC.COM

And… in no way do I think that my having white skin gives me any right to feel sorry for myself.

I can see and feel that the world is struggling and that people are struggling and that their struggle has gone on for decades.

For that I am sorry.

Hate breeds hate.

I am sorry that there are ignorant people on this earth-the earth that we all share, who believe that they have more of a right to be here than another.

I am not one of those ignorant people.

I am not a racist.

Namaste

 ©All Rights Reserved – The boy in the chip shop 2019-20

Happy Birthday

goodhousekeeping.com

Today is my Mothers 85th birthday and she is still as fierce with her words as she was many years ago.

We had one of our pretty much usual determined conversations yesterday and by determined I really mean that Mother accuse’s, passes judgement and then dismisses any chance of a re-trial and all determined by her imagination.

AND BREATHE…

I know only too well how difficult it’s been for her over the past few lock down months, it’s been tough for everyone.

For as long as I can remember, my Mother has perfected playing the role of the victim.

It is always about her and how someone has mistreated her, misleading her, lying to her, not including her and so on.

It is such a shame because she is an incredibly strong lady, with unbelievable resilience, a great sense of humor (on a good day, well a very good day, that is) and can be the most loving Mother anyone could wish for.

There is a saying that we have said for many years about her and that is;

She will give you the shirt off of her back if she thought that it would help you.

And, there is a part of me that will tell you, its comes at a cost-a reminder of how much she has done for you, if it wasn’t for her… how she has been a “Dam good Mother” and the ultimate statement that I just have to write in capitals;

IF IT WASN’T FOR ME YOU WOULDN’T BE ALIVE

Um! What can I say accept;

Thanks Mum for my life.

I am so glad I survived, even though the odds were set against me.

Please don’t get me wrong I love my Mother so very much and on the other side of that statement, I have spent my life making up for, as she believes, loving my Father more.

So yesterday, I found myself at age 51 and 3/4 justifying my not spending time at friends houses and spending time at hers, when I’m supposedly isolating (keeping her safe) from her and others.

I’m not even sure what I just wrote made any sense (laughing out loud).

So I shall try again; that heated conversation came about because she read or saw something on Facebook, (yes Mother has face book and commonly refers to it as the Huddle, which is the name of the device she first had, in order to use the internet-argh!! My brain aches just trying to explain it) then made up a story in her head about what she thought she saw.

We often make up stories about situations that actually, we know nothing about or are the very least are missing the facts.

I wasn’t anywhere I wasn’t supposed to be.

When I called to say that I would like to make lunch for her today and we would have to sit in the garden due to social distancing, she went straight into the victim role and stated that I have been very distant over the past few months.

No mention of a Pandemic…

Mother also claimed that she knew that I had spent so much more time with other people than with her and yet, I am telling her that she has to sit in the garden-“Your own Mother!”

We are the product of our life experiences and they do not and will never define who we are and there is always room for change.

There is so much hurt, rejection, loss, frustration, bitterness, jealousy and pain that Mother still holds within her and no amount of my trying, desperately at times to lead her towards thinking differently about her life, is going to change that.

This is her journey and of course I am a huge part of that journey and my love for her is insurmountable.

Will I always feel frustrated when we rub each other up the wrong way… of course I will, because until I heal the part of me that is my Mother, she will always present to me the lessons that I need to learn.

Ultimately, we all want to be loved and my Mother is no different.

Happy birthday to you on this 10th day of June.

Patricia June Maltby Thompson Sinclair

May you find that acceptance within you that I believe you are searching for.

May you forgive yourself for the role that you didn’t play.

May you know, that we your children, love you and always will.

entandoz.com

Namaste

©All Rights Reserved – The boy in the chip shop 2019-20

Would She still be proud?

YourTango

I’m awake and I can’t sleep.

I’ve been lying in bed, mulling over a telephone call that I had with my elderly Mother yesterday when checking in with her to make sure all is okay.

“I’ve been reading your writing on the huddle”– she always refers to the internet, as the name of the tablet that she uses and the writing she is referring to are the memes or quotes that I post on Facebook.

“I’m proud of you girl.”

“Thanks Mum that means a lot to me.”

She caught sight of the link that I posted a few weeks back, to this blog and my heart sank when she told me that she had managed to get on to my writing where there was a picture of someones feet… “I don’t know how I found it but it was ever so good and I didn’t know you could write like that!”

I was relieved to know that she didn’t get any further than the introduction and know that she would be pretty devastated if she read anymore.

My big brother idolized his mum, our mum and when he was little he used to try and protect her from my father and his aggressive bouts, by standing in front of her and standing up to him.

He took the brunt of the beatings for her.

There were times when my father would take my mothers most precious possessions and swap them for prescription drugs from the man that lived opposite our house. My brother would earn money from either bottle digging or picking winkles from the beach and buy her jewellery back.

I’ve probably written this somewhere before in my previous posts.

There is still a part of me that struggles to forgive her for not putting my brother first and I also know that he needs to be acknowledged for what happened to him as a child.

It’s the younger child part of him that needs this to be acknowledged.

Nobody has said sorry.

I know that we make choices to the best of our ability at any given time and the choices that my mother would have made back then, were driven by intense fear.

Forgiveness is so very powerful and by choosing pain, anger or even hate over forgiving, we are hurting ourselves so much more than the other person/people involved in our personal story.

Have I forgiven my mother for not protecting my brother and putting him first?

I would be lying if I said that I totally had and for the most part, of course, I have. Maybe I have learn’t so much over the years about the why’s and the how’s and the many reasons why we do the things that we do.

It is never black and white and there is always so much more.

There is still a part of me that seems unable to forgive my parents for the hurt that they both caused my brother and I also know that forgiveness needs to happen in order to really live freely without that past dragging me or him down.

They carried so much pain of their own.

In time I know we will and in part, that’s why I started writing.

If my mother read my blog I think that she would be shocked and very hurt. I also think that acknowledging the part that she played in all of this, would devastate her.

What I do resent is a statement she had said so many times over the years and it’s this-

“If anyone ever touched a hair of one of my kids… I’d kill them!”

(and that goes for grandchildren too)

Some where within her there is a dark, dark place that carries shame, guilt, loss and so much pain and I really don’t want that for her or for my brother or I.

Forgiveness can be tough and I so want it to be easier. I love my mum with all my heart and she has been a wonderful mum in so many ways. I feel that there’s a part of her emotionally that cut off and became cold a very long time ago and that may of happened way before she married my father.

Maybe it happened when her own mother rejected her and that’s terribly sad.

I guess the question is, would my mother still be very proud of me if she read my blog?

I’m not so sure she would.

YourTango

We all deserve peace.

©All Rights Reserved – The boy in the chip shop 2019-20