Was it possible for someone to hate their own mother?

   “I hated my mother” whispered Frank, trying to keep his voice low. There were people around him, and the last thing he’d want was to be heard by the crowd gathered to honour his mother’s death. It was a funeral. 

      His aunt was talking, saying some untruthful things about how virtuous and good his mother was; “All of these are lies!” whispered again. Indeed, nobody in that room was aware of his mother’s torments and hate against his own son. 

      “Is this cruel woman going to be remembered as a caring mother?” asked Frank, nobody could hear him. The room was crowded while he was inside the total loneliness. What a weird event his mother’s funeral was; everyone but him was sad.

      “Look at him! He must be in such deep pain that he even ran out of his tears” whispered someone behind him. Frank wanted to turn back and cry out: “No! I hated her all my life! Do you know what a monster she was? Do you know what she has done to my soul?” He wanted to cry out. He didn't. He just wanted but couldn’t do anything. He has never had enough courage to talk to people. It might have been a result of years of lockdown. The only people he could see were his schoolmates. However, he had never had anything in common with them. 

      Frank’s mind was full of different questions. What he was going to do? Was he going to start working? He was alone at last, there wasn’t his mother. He was almost 18. Would his aunt let him live with them? He had always wanted to attend university, what if he couldn’t achieve it, what would happen?

      “Frank! Don’t you still want to say anything?” asked his loud aunt. He had refused her like 10 minutes ago, and she was asking again, she was just like his mother, there was no doubt that they were sisters. "She also liked seeing people in pain," Frank thought. Frank looked at her aunt’s face with empty eyes, emotionless. He wanted to say “No!”, but there was something he could do. Yes! He could scream everyone that his mother was a monster. “I should talk,” thought Frank murmured: “Yes, aunt, yes I want”. 

      Frank stood up, stepped towards the coffin. However, there was something in his soul. Asking him to stop. It was like a towering pain. He couldn’t do that; he couldn’t see his mother like that. 

      “Excuse me!” whispered Frank. Stepped backwards, his aunt was looking at his face with questioning eyes. Frank turned behind, ran out of the room. Passed the long corridor and arrived the yard but he didn’t stop, kept going. Took out a cigarette pack, it was full, he bought it a few days ago and couldn’t even touch them. What a burden it was to accept all those sympathies. Frank looked up the window of the room of ceremony.

      Finally, it was the time of thinking about good things. In the end, all this house was his now. He could do anything with it. “Well mother, at least you did let me take the house” smiled Frank. Watched the yard, it was charming; for the first time in his entire life, this house seemed him nice, it had a different atmosphere -a little gothic.

      Frank was about to lit a cigarette he had chosen. He thought one of the cigarettes looked really “inviting” when his cousin, Sophia, entered the yard. She seemed sad to him. “Are you ok?” Frank asked her. “No!” she answered. “No, I’m not! Are you?” she was disappointed. It was the norm: when someone has died, you should cry, and fall into despair; you should act like the end of the world has come. This was the norm for ‘normal people’ with ‘normal families’, somethings Frank hadn’t ever had.

“I don’t know” answered Frank and drew on his cigarette. His cousin, Sophia, was looking at him with curious eyes. Frank intended to wait until she asks what he meant, but it’d be better to keep talking; he didn’t want to create a family crisis since he was afraid of everything related to his family. “I don’t really know what to feel right now, it’s… It’s so hard to think of what happened”. 

      “Interesting!” thought Frank “Even that annoying girl can say something true”. Why was he there? He didn’t know as well. Actually, he didn’t know anything.“It must be so hard to lose someone you loved a lot, right!” Sophia exclaimed. Frank didn’t want to answer her question, it was depressing.“Believe me I would prefer to be far away from here” Frank sighed; he was pacing now, walking around the small fountain; watching the beautiful sky; drawing on his cigarette.

“M-my mother” muttered Frank. There were some different memories he had with his mother. He could remember, when his father was alive, his mother was a cheerful woman. He was six when they lost him. His mother had changed after that, she had lost her energy, she had become someone unbearable, someone dead from inside. He couldn’t remember how many times his mother told him that she wished him to have died in place of his father. It was a love become a sickness, an obsession; a love bigger than his mother had ever felt for anyone else. 

      “I wish I had a chance to ask her why didn’t she even try to love me?” Frank moaned. Here it is, his eyes were turning red; teardrops were wetting his cheeks. His soul was shattered, and now one of the pieces of his soul was weeping. Was it possible for someone to hate their own mother? Hard to understand. Yes, it was possible. However, wasn’t “hate” relative?

           “So sorry Frank” Sophie ran towards him, held his hand. “Do you want to know what I feel now Sophia?” Frank asked. His eyes were hurting. “Yes! Please!” Sophia cried. It was raining. Frank raised his head, closed his eyes and let raindrops to wet his long, brown hair. It was time to pour out his heart. “My mother… She used to say: “I love you”’ Frank smiled.