I wasn’t quite sure what to call this particular blog so for now I’ll leave it as it stands as it best covers what I am going to write about today. These past few weeks have been quite a rollercoaster and ones which I am so glad I had. It’s been bitter sweet; more sweet than bitter I’m glad to say. My daughter came to live with us for the final weeks pending her departure to New Zealand and it’s the best thing that could have happened for both of us. I think we were both pretty apprehensive as our recent history has hit troubled times. We both had lessons to learn – hard ones at that about each other and about ourselves. I can’t vouch for my daughter and neither should I for that is her story to tell.
This is my version. Briefly we hit hard times and found it very hard to get along. I don’t know where to start really but it goes back a long way. I can only really write about the past two years’ events when things were so utterly painful. I have already mentioned them in other blogs but we simply struggled to communicate properly. After much self help on both sides we managed to get to the stage where we could talk openly and honestly to each other. I had to listen. It was painful to hear but I had to do it for both our sakes. Eventually I gained her trust and our relationship blossomed into something I had hoped it could be. Instead of me talking about my problems all the time I sat and listened to hers and why she felt the way she did. I realised I had been so full of my own issues that I had loaded her with all of mine through childhood and in recent years. I realised it had to stop and gradually it did.
When we stopped ‘treading on eggshells’ I knew we were making headway and so she came to stay with us before leaving two days ago. I still supported her and she still came to me despite the differences we had. I knew at last I had gained her trust in me. Once that happened we could both be ourselves without treading on those eggshells. It’s been such a rollercoaster that I can barely remember events over the last couple of weeks. They seem like a bit of a blur now and I am struggling to recollect what has happened. I know I was supposed to have gone to a meditation retreat but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wanted, I realised, to make the most of the time I had left with her in the UK. There was no way I could concentrate on meditating knowing I would only have three days left before she went.
I am glad I made that decision as it brought us so close together. Sitting in the garden having breakfast, chatting, sometimes a few tears, some laughter and teasing but it was so wonderful to have the moments which I will cherish. No more the squabbles and arguments but just calmness and respect for each other and the closeness. The build up to her going away was also very difficult. I was beginning to dread the day, the parting and I knew it would be the same for her. We spoke about it but I also knew I had to be very strong and not to give way to my emotions which were starting to emerge deep inside. What was I so afraid of? Her leaving or my feelings about her leaving or both? I’ve never been particular good at parting company with those I love. Maybe I’m just a very emotional person.
As a child I remember my brother at the age of 16 going off to Italy for a few days with the school. Dad took us both to Waterloo Station and I cried buckets. When I got home I was so miserable I didn’t eat properly for days. I got over it of course but I still remember the pain of the parting. What made it worse was this music being played in the background. It was called ‘The Elizabethan Serenade’. It stuck in my mind as music always seems to do at every event like that and this occasion was the first. Even this week I had a song to connect with my daughter’s leaving – Bryan Ferry’s ‘Take a Chance With Me’ – how silly am I? Then a few years later it happened again when I went on holiday and cried because I had had such wonderful time with these friends of my parents. I didn’t want to leave because they had made me so happy.
Close relatives are different though. If you are lucky you form a bond and it really gets to you. I had this bond with my Mum of course. As I’ve said I grew up being a carer and caring so much for her that it became part of my natural life. I expected it to be that way and as a result I didn’t really get on with the rest of my life until much later on. I found it so hard to leave her on her own. It was my choice though not hers. It might have been a security thing I just don’t know but I struggled to get a life of my own. I can’t blame anyone else as it was my own doing. My own insecurity; I guess it was built out of fear – fear of losing her. I was afraid of my emotions too, my feelings which seemed to run so deep. Often I had said to me that I took things to heart far too much. Nobody really understood the pain I suffered with my emotions particularly my Dad. He was kind and caring but didn’t know how to really understand what I was feeling. I guess it was just that generation.
I loved him dearly though and the day I got married was the most wonderful day not just because I married my husband but because I was the only one who got to walk down the aisle with Dad when he gave me away. Nobody else did that as I was the only daughter. He used to say to me… ‘You are my favourite daughter’ and I believe I was. I was the only daughter. I remember thinking on many occasions that Dad never shows his feelings but the day I got married was the first time I ever saw him cry. It broke my heart. We were leaving for our honeymoon and I caught a glimpse of him wiping his eyes. As soon as I saw this I was so shocked that I burst into tears and had to be whisked away quickly. I never forgot it. Later on Mum told me he had cried that night because of me leaving home. It was then I knew that he did have emotions and I was the cause of his tears. Strangely enough I too was crying about him on my wedding night of all things but luckily I had a husband who understood.
Then Dad died suddenly in 1986 and Mum was left alone. It was devastating most of all because it was so unexpected at the age of 68 and she being disabled would have to fend for herself and she did. I still went round to stay with her and took the children with me. We had such wonderful times and great memories. I relished every moment that was left. I knew one day she wouldn’t be around any more and I dreaded that day. She had been such a large part of my life. I loved her so much. The comfort she had given me and her generosity. What a wonderful mother. I couldn’t have asked for more. When she died I was devastated. Even though it was expected the shock was so terrible I remember going back to the empty house the next day and seeing her empty wheelchair and I wanted to die. I couldn’t cope. The pain was ripping me apart. I could barely breathe. I cried and cried and shouted and wailed and literally hung on to the walls for comfort. The shock was so dreadful. In the end I rang my husband and he came to get me. I had to let go but it took a very very long time for me to get over it. Eventually I did although I never thought I could.
One day though when I realised I had and that I had three children, my future to keep me going, I put all my efforts into bringing them up like I cared for my Mum. It was such a comfort to have them. What was my purpose after all but to care. Now I didn’t have Mum I could devote more time to my children, not that I neglected them in any way whatsoever. I had been at home with them all the time and never went to work. The thought never crossed my mind. I couldn’t cope with two children and my Mum. It wasn’t possible. After she died I had my third daughter and it was a struggle to look after her because I had the worst post natal depression and bereavement to contend with. So I used to drop the kids off at school and take her out in her pushchair to a local embroidery shop to talk to a nice lady who later died of ovarian cancer. She was such a kind soul and listened to me while I told her how bad I felt. At the time my daughter was having problems sleeping and because of the way I felt I think it transferred to her so she was rather fractious.
So emotions are hard to deal with and I struggle. Instead of crying I bottle it up and the anger builds up inside which has made me a very angry person. At times passive aggressive. I don’t think it’s my fault it’s just our society. The old ‘stiff upper lip’ brigade. We aren’t a nation who can openly show our feelings. When you look at other cultures they express their feelings which is so much better. Even on the continent the Germans are pretty direct. Seemingly very serious but they have an excellent sense of humour. They too have their issues but somehow I like their approach. Over the past four years I have met quite a few Germans and I really like them. The first one I met was a Buddhist monk on the very first retreat I went on. The relevance of this is that I wrote a note to him about feelings and not being able to cry. He had just lost his father to Alzheimers and my Mum had passed away some 21 years before. I felt an empathy with him as he sat there talking about how much he was hurting. It stirred up such deep emotions in me that I ended up crying.
I had no idea how much pain I was still holding inside since her death and I told him in a note. He then gave a talk on how to accept your feelings and that crying was a beautiful thing. Not to be afraid of it and to stay with it. ‘Don’t suppress tears’ he said. It was as if he had given me permission to be a human being and I had made a connection with him. He left the monastery a few weeks later and I was beside myself. I had found a spiritual friend and he was leaving. In that short space of time I had grown so fond of him that the pain of him leaving was almost too much to bear. I didn’t know how to deal with it and a friend of his said to me … ‘there is nothing wrong in loving another human being even a Buddhist monk. That is what is so special about us – the ability to love each other. It’s a beautiful thing’ So I accepted what she said and later on I got to know him more and still see him at the Insight Dialogue retreats he leads all over the world. It’s a lesson in letting go. No pain without love it seems – but what a powerful thing.
So today I can reflect on the past two to three days and earlier. I felt awful and I know my daughter did too for the same reason. She was tearful and unsure about going but between us she made it safely. I was dreading Wednesday but somehow I managed to survive. I just got through it hour by hour until eventually we were on our way to the airport. Even now my stomach is still recoiling at the thought of how I was feeling on that journey. I wasn’t really sure what I might do or say so I had to just try and be brave and keep calm. We had some food and then finally the moment arrived. All seemed well. My husband seemed pretty upbeat and so did she thank goodness. It was me. I was subdued and I knew I was struggling to keep my emotions in check. We took some photos and I bravely tried to be amusing despite the fact that inside my stomach was doing somersaults. Then quickly we parted company. It was done.
I managed to get to the top of the stairs out of sight and tried not to cry but the sobs began to rack my stomach. I took lots of deep breaths as the tears flowed down my cheeks. I was waiting for my husband to return from the Gents. He was great. Doing his best to lift me by being amusing…. ‘What an adventure!’ he said. I just nodded. ‘For whom?’ I thought. ‘This is agony for me not an adventure at all’. I was glad though he was ok because if two of us had been upset we would have flooded the airport terminal. We drove home and I calmed down a bit with tears still flowing. I dreaded going back into an empty house – well it wasn’t empty the cat was waiting for us. I walked in sat down and that was it the dam burst, the floodgates opened and I had the biggest howl which was over in a matter of minutes. I grabbed my husband’s leg for support and nearly pulled him over. Then he made me a nice cup of tea and I was okay once again
I am terrified of my feelings, the pain of emotions. I have begun to realise now how much it scares me to have such deep feelings but the only thing I can do is accept these feelings. It’s who I am. It’s what makes me the person I am. I can’t and shouldn’t change it. My friend at the monastery sent me a message just before we waved our daughter off and she said ‘don’t be afraid to cry’. I saw her yesterday and thanked her for her advice. It really helped me. I’ve always struggled to express myself properly and nine times out of ten it’s because I am so bottled up with pent up feelings that I haven’t got rid of. Time for change and time to give myself permission to be who I am as well.
One of the loveliest things that happened between me and my daughter the day before she left or even the day she left I can’t quite remember was that we were sitting outside on the decking looked at each other and spoke and said ‘We’re okay – job done’ and then gave each other a high five. Wonderful! We’ve been in touch of course and I will probably do some more texting and Skypeing like we did when she was in Australia a year ago – although it seems longer than that – and then hopefully we will go out and visit her early next year. In the meantime I need to get on with my life and let her get on with hers. It’s been a hell of an emotional rollercoaster that’s for sure but I couldn’t be any other way because that is the way I am and I care a lot.
What touched me most of all is I’ve watched how hard she has worked with her therapy, self help and she has mellowed so much. She said some things in her blog that astounded me. Such wisdom. I always knew she had it in her – she just had to find it out for herself. She has become a beautiful and warm human being with great compassion, she has supported me and been such a comfort that it became very painful to let her go but it would be incredibly selfish of me not to want her to go and live her life and do what her heart tells her to do. I deeply admire what she is doing – it is a very brave and courageous thing to do to go somewhere alone and not know a soul. Thankfully technology keeps us together and the pain seems a lot less severe. Here’s to New Zealand!
myinnerworld484 
Reblogged this on too many feelings and commented:
My mum and I 🙂
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