I have thought about the events of Thursday long and hard. I have also questioned how much or how little to write about it. I have though concluded that I must write as much as possible so that as a family we can take what we need and help each other work out these niggles which are unsettling us all. Whatever I love ya Mazza. I wish I could give you the answers you seek.
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My Mum's roots are fractured to say the least. She had a very close relationship with her Dad but sadly the same can not be said for her Mother. I have several vivid recollections of my grandparents on Mum's side. My Grandad was a scream. Flicking spoons across the dining room table, pulling faces and generally making my brother and I sick with laughter, back when faggots where round and Brains. My Grandma was always a grey figure in the background not really taking part and quietly scornful of such frivolity. Nevertheless Grandad made sure that as kids we knew he was with us - even though they lived miles away in Worcester. He sent postcards, letters and boxes of fudge. There are photos of him in walking boots on the top of Tors across the country. As I write I see where Mum gets her walking spirit from - and I too have gained that love. He was a jolly man and we all loved him dearly. Sadly he passed away in April 1986.
My Mum has tried often to reconcile her relationship with her Mother. But it has been seriously impeded by her brothers turning a blind eye and very much leaving Mum out in the cold. My friends always comment we are a tight foursome but as time passes I recognise that my Mum was always making sure we had the childhood she did not and I know she fears my relationship with my brother will go the same way as hers with her brothers.
Her frenetic twin married a god fearing woman and moved to Sweden. We saw them little as we grew up and I recall seeing my cousins Helen & Rosie all of a few times. I am the eldest grand child on that side of the family so should have taken greater responsibility maybe. But we were never that sort of family. Mum's eldest brother moved to Stafford and had three children whose names now embarrassingly I cannot recall. I lie it has come to me along with the memory of the week they stayed at our house. Kerry, Tara and Phillip. The youngest was a blond haired boy. I remember that week more for the acquisition of my Duran Duran 'Rio' cassette and playing it non stop on my cassette Walkman. Being told it would affect my hearing as I got older. I'm 35 and it seems fine for the time being. Grandad had died by them and my Uncle had bought his kids and Grandma down for the week. It was a sunny week and we visited several of Mum's aunts and uncles. They always welcomed us with open arms and Mum was always comfortable around them. I never really sensed much tension between my Mum and her Mother - but I suppose it became clearer as the letters and postcards dwindled. My cousins became faded ghosts and any sort of family get together was more likely to come from my Dad's very minute family. Years have passed - face it 22 and my Mum has rarely seen her twin brother who now lives in Canada even though she often hears that he has been in the country. I met his wife once as her parents live in Morden. She wanted me to help trace the family tree. I declined to help as it felt false. The family I did know of I had not seen so why track down more to be ignored by? This took place in 2001 and I was living the life of Reilly in London (smoking, drinking and sporting a tattoo!) - but her attitude was odd. I was well educated yet her daughter coming to London as part of her nursing course did not seem reason enough to exchange details and make a point of meeting as cousins. It was as though I was not quite good enough. I may have got defensive as I was told of a family life which had not included me since 1986 and more importantly had not included my Mum either. I do remember being told that Mother was not well mentally and could not help the way she was. I found this hard to take. I know my Mum has tried many times to make good the relationship with Mother but has always been pushed away. It felt as if everyone was tip toeing around Mother at the cost of my Mum's feelings. I have not heard from Monica since.
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The years keep rolling by and with age comes self analysis and the yearn to repair. Understand. Find peace. Mum wants answers to so many questions. Naturally she wants to know what she did (or did not do) that has caused such pain for so many years. Mum is a tender flower who blooms for those she deems worthy despite her past having made her fairly hard hearted too. I know - I have inherited some of that inner resolve. So Thursday was the day for answers.
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Curious to know how and what the situation was when her father died she had heard you could obtain copies of people's wills. So we trudged the length of High Holborn in search. Without a street number of building name that can be quite tiresome. But with hindsight I take full blame for making the sensitive situation even more painful. We came out by the Bung Hole pub - had we turned left we would have found the Probate Office straight away. Sadly my nose went right and we ended up at New Oxford Street. 2 policeman and a postman later we are heading back towards the Bung Hole.
A less pleasant trait that I have is impatience in the face of what I perceive to be incompetence. I was close to exploding. I can't explain why. Maybe it was seeing Mum so helpless. So in need of answers. To me she is always so strong. It was the day when the baton was finally passed over. Mum needed me to be strong and I was failing. Miserably.
I called a friend to get a road number and can reveal its 42-29 High Holborn. I was cross with myself too. I should have checked before we left the house. But I have had my head so far up my arse with work I did not.
So we go through the x-ray machine and delve into the Probate registers. Huge books which record alphabetically the probate number of those wills logged so you can order a copy.
1986 - Sw-Ve no luck. We check all through the books up to 1991. No luck. Then as a sanity check I look for my Dad's Dad entry. No entry for Henry either. So Herbert and Henry are not listed. Mum is crestfallen. My brain assumes lawyer mode.. did they go through probate? Would it be the same if all passed to a wife etc etc. At this point I must stress this is not a mission to discover hidden millions - it is the last ditch hope my Mum had of getting in touch with her Dad to see what his wishes were. She always believed he wanted things split between the grandchildren. If he did, I suspect it is a wish that will not happen now. I so wanted it to be easy to obtain so my Mum could read his words and understand she was loved by him at least. She does already know that - but the lack of affection or acknowledgement from the rest of her clan is a deep scar she carries.
I finally realise my role and give Mum a big hug. It's not enough. She is hurting. Has hurt for a long time. Seeing Stu in another a world does not help her soul either. But life is to a degree about the here and now and we must make the best of it.
We meet Dad. I am glad. I realise I love Dad for so many reasons but mainly because he always so wise and takes care of Mum and I in ways we tend to take for granted. I buy us all a coffee and try to get Mum smiling again. I do not succeed. I suspect a deepening dark mood will descend. A lot of inward analysis and self questioning. The next last chance saloon. Meeting her eldest brother and trying somehow to repair what is still here. More strength.
The really sad part - for years and years I have only ever considered my family as us four. But its not really the truth. We have indeed been the people who have shaped each other. But blood ties are with us no matter how hard we fight them. I am always heartened when in the past distant relatives have said I look like my Dad's sister - Brenda a woman I never met for she had died before I was born. And I relish the fact Dad's Mum was Labour through and through. She'd be spinning now I suspect. But these are notions. For Mum there are memories of a childhood with 2 brothers to whom she looked up and cared for. There are the good days and the bad dark days when she wished to be anywhere else. Then there was Mum meeting Dad. They said it wouldn't last. Well 38 years would say that was incorrect. So where's the apology and forgiveness now? I hope Mum finds the answers she seeks. I hope her brothers in their old age also are thinking like she is and want to have conversations and reconciliations such that my Mum can stave off this sense of loneliness. Failure. Which of course she is not. Failure is a crass word for exam results, not life and being a tops wife, dedicated mother and most importantly self assured big hearted woman.
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Hugs to you Mazza. This is your journey but Dad and I are both here for you. Please stop beating yourself up. Let's reset the expectations and try to make this less painful. I learnt a lot about myself on Thursday. I am scared too. You and Pa are so much the back bone of my life. I wish I could provide more for your bucks! A hubby, a big house for you to stay at, front row seats at Wimbledon, maybe even grandchildren (as opposed to dogs).
I can though try to more patient and understanding and learn the lesson of the art of sharing that you have in bundles... don't stop talking to me... xx
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