I completely agree with my mother when she says my father wasnt exactly a role model, nor was he a particularly kind or sensitive person. He was a heavy drinker, and honestly, I understand why she divorced him. What I cant wrap my head around, though, is how she could have left me in his care when I was just eight years old. He could barely look after himself, let alone a child. What started as a relatively happy childhood with him quickly turned into a nightmare. Mum has no idea that every night I prayed to grow up fast and escape my fathers house.
When I finally moved into the halls at university in Manchester, I felt like the luckiest person in the world. At last, I could start my own life, free from my father’s endless drinking, his ranting and so-called wise advice.
Adulthood wasnt much easier. Life had its highs and lows. My wife and I didnt see eye to eye, either; most of our serious arguments boiled down to differences in personality. She preferred one thing, I stuck to something else. She wanted a certain future for our daughter, I envisioned another, and in the end, every so often wed fall out. After one particularly heated row, she stormed out of the house with our daughter, not for good but just for a walk to cool off, and I felt uneasy when the doorbell rang.
Standing on the doorstep was my mother. At first, I didnt recognise her. She told me she was in trouble and needed somewhere to stay.
Theyre trying to evict me for not paying rent. Knocking on my windows, I cant sleep. Mind if I stay for a few days? she asked.
I never would have let my father in, and to be honest, the same goes for a woman I hadnt seen in years, except for the occasional glance at her Facebook page.
How did you find my address? You really shouldnt be here, I said.
Your father gave it to me. Hes still a fool, let me tell you everything
I had to let her in I didnt want the whole neighbourhood hearing about her debts and about Dad.
My mum stayed a few days, which soon turned into weeks. Surprisingly, she got along with my wife almost straight away, and both started criticising me. I thought maybe it was just because they were both women, sharing opinions, but I overheard my mum talking about me when she thought Id gone outside for a smoke. Hes just like his father, she said. Hes probably a drinker too, and as he gets older, hell be unbearable. Now I worry what if my wife listens to my mum and decides to leave because of her words?
I ask my mum when she plans to move out, but my wife and daughter always take her side. Some people are delighted by the presence of another woman in the house, some are ecstatic that they can play with their grandmother and hear bedtime stories, but I dont feel at ease. I sense theyre trying to push me out of my own home. Have I done something wrong? Is my mother blaming me for something, or is this her revenge for my father?
Through all of this, Ive learned that the scars from childhood can linger far longer than we realise. Sometimes, even when people seem to have settled into your life, unresolved pain finds its way back. Forgiving othersand ourselvesis not just a kindness, but a necessity, if we ever hope to find peace.
