Ignorance is Bliss

I'm still sorting out my holiday pics and will post some more soon, but right now something is bothering me and I need to get it off my chest (and no, it's not my sister's coconut bra!!). It's something that happened between my mother and I when I was in Scotland.

It's my aunt's birthday, so we (my mother, my sister and I) all trundle up to Edinburgh to take her out for lunch and spend the day with her. Lunch is great, everyone had a wonderful time and I had carefully positioned myself to the outside of the table (and spoken with the maitre'd on arrival) to make sure I can take care of the bill as my aunt is very forceful about 'paying her way'.

I manage, despite much waving of arms by both my aunt and I, and threatened assaults by both of us on the wait staff to 'give me the bill', to take care of it. My mother later berates me for doing that, saying she wanted to pay. I kindly pointed out that due to her location at the table, that would have been impossible as she was in the far corner and past my aunt. Therefore, I took care of it as I knew the plan was that my aunt would not, under any circumstances, be allowed to pay. I should have sensed that would not be the end of it.

Later that afternoon, there is some reminiscing about the early years in Scotland by my mother and my aunt (this, for me, is birth to age 2). They were talking about where they lived and so on and suddenly my mother comes out with "She was an awful baby, a real bitch (looking at me)." I was somewhat stunned at this reference to a baby as a "bitch" and said so. My mother continued on, referring to me again as an "absolute bitch" due to the fact I apparently cried and screamed a lot. To the point she wanted to throw me against a wall. She even said that when my dad came home from sea, he told her that he couldn't bring himself to even like me. I think that hurt the most.

I said, and this is indeed my understanding, that a baby doesn't cry for nothing, there has to be a reason for it. Oh no I was told, you were just a bitch. I was so stunned I really didn't know what to say. So my mother continues on about how wonderful my brother was, how if I wanted one of his toys, he gave me it even though she told him not to, with him saying "it's OK mum, I don't mind". And what a wonderful boy he was, and man he is. My eyes started to sting a little as my brother and I have a very ugly relationship about which I've posted before and about which noone in my family knows. What she does know is that he tried to kill me several times before I reached my teens and she often recounts these stories (the two she knows about, there was one other I never told her because he threatened me at the time) and makes jokes about them.

When I was in Hawaii with my sister, we spoke about our mother a bit, about dealing with her and how we can be there for her in the difficult months ahead. I was taken aback when my sister said: "You know Fion, mum's really really nasty about you." I didn't even want to ask how, or what she'd been saying. I'm the one who has been the most supportive, I made sure I was there with her when she got her diagnosis and was the one able to ask the important questions, the answers to which are what have helped her decide what she wants to do about her illnesses. I'm the one who shops online for her for things she can't get locally, who goes out of my way to think of things she needs or might like to have. Who does more than call her on a regular basis (which is all my brother does), instead trying to make sure her life is made more comfortable. Even my sister has asked me why I do all this for her if she doesn't appreciate it. I guess I feel duty-bound in some way.

Since my dad passed away, I like my mother less and less. I care about her less and less. It's almost as though she's fading away already. It's almost as though, too, her affection for me has disappeared since my dad left us. I wonder if the two things are related and if she ever even liked me, or just made a show of it because my dad loved me so much.

More about my mother

Should I continue to just swallow all I hear and be the respectful daughter during whatever days she has left? Should I tell her how her beloved son stole my childhood and fostered such fear in me, which she would probably choose to deny anyway? Or should I just do what right now I feel like doing, and avoid her as much as possible?

I no longer feel as though I'm losing my mother, I feel as though I never had one.