WISH I HAD ANOTHER MOMENT WITH MY MOM

Growing up I always thought my parents were too strict with me, especially my mom. Don’t get me wrong, my mom was very loving. She went to work during the week, she kept the household going and would make sure that the weekly grocery shop was done, laundry was up to date and the house was clean. Above all, she was quick to make peace and give a hug. She would even fight my battles for me.

I remember being in high school and my Accounting teacher had given me a hard time that particular day. I was a very quiet and coy child. She had screamed at me during the class and had shouted that I get out and leave the room. I just sat there, red-faced, not moving. Later that afternoon we were in Edgars, a retail departmental store, and low and behold who should I see but the Accounting teacher. Quickly I had told my mom what had happened that day in the Accounting class. The teacher spoke to my mom as if butter would not melt in her mouth.  She then said to my mom that I had given her a hard time in class that day to which my mom replied that it seemed the other way around. The teacher turned around, red- faced and walked away and I knew secretly that I had won. My mom knew the story and the teacher was not going to get the better of me.

Looking back on my life as a child, my life was very sheltered. I was not allowed to walk to the café on my own. The café was down the road, a block from where we stayed and there were no streets to cross.

When my friends went ice-skating on a Friday evening and I was invited, I was never allowed to go along. I was never allowed to have sleepovers at a friend’s house. I was never allowed to go to parties. I was never taught how to ride a bicycle and allowed to cycle, experiencing the wind blowing through my hair whilst cycling to school. I was never allowed to have a boyfriend while going to school.

As a child, my mom was my parent. She never acted as my friend. 

When I got to college, I often used to think about how cool my friends’ moms were. Their household seemed so warm and inviting. So easily accepting of others. I could never invite a friend to stay for the weekend. It would be awkward and uncomfortable. It felt as if my mom would be listening to every word that I would say to my friend visiting. Hence, I would never take a friend home.

I felt that the treatment had gotten worse since my childhood. By the time I had started to work, I had to be home at a “decent” hour. This was virtually impossible as the clubs only opened at 11 pm. My friends and I would have supper and then afterward go clubbing. I would mostly get home at 5 am the next morning, only to find my mom waiting up for me in the sitting room.  My mom had called the police a few times. I could not even sneak into the house. 

My mom believed that a girl should only move out of her parents’ house once she got married. It felt as if I was between a rock and a hard place, not ready for marriage but unable to go clubbing with friends during my free time. The worst part for me was that I could not call my mom to let her know where I was or if I would be late, she would simply not understand. They say that blood is thicker than water, which rings true but we had a communication break-down. We could not speak to each other freely and openly. I would often remain in my bedroom and avoid confrontation than have my mom upset with me. There was no need to say anything to me, just the stare she would give me and the look of her eyes would say a thousand words. That alone would scare me and I knew to tread carefully.

I got married in 1998 and my mom and I only became friends for the five years that followed. She passed away in April 2003 of breast cancer after a very brave fight.

It was only in 2005 when my son was born, that I sadly developed a deep appreciation for my late mom. Things that my son would do made me think back to my childhood.  How my mom would react and how I wished to react.  I understood that my mom had done her very best at the time. It was when my son was around two years of age that I missed my mom. I knew that we would have been in a place where she could have given me advice and helped her daughter raise her grandson. 

A mom’s instinct is to protect her child. At times it could be a little too smothering and result in too much sheltering. I was adamant from the start that I would try and be an even better mom to my son. I researched the Maria Montessori Method. I did the two-year theory and practical course to better understand the teaching method. My son attended a few Montessori Schools and he was taught at a very young age to be independent and to think out of the box. He was guided instead of always told what to do and how to do it.

I remember the beginning stages of when he just started to walk. We were living in a double-storey semi-detached house at the time. Every time he came sliding down the staircase I held my breath but he had to learn how to get down the stairs on his own.

When my son is of the clubbing age, I hope that he will be comfortable enough to feel as if he can call me at any hour of the morning to let me know that he is safe.

Now I see my mom when I look in the mirror or when I see a beautiful butterfly. I appreciate my mom more than ever as I know that it is not easy raising a teenager. I appreciate more than ever what my mom has done for me and wish that I could have one more chance to thank her and to let her know that I love her.