Mother’s Day

Well, it’s nearly over! I survived another Mother’s Day without two of my sons in it and this year there would have been a new grandson, had I had the pleasure of meeting him.  Its been tough, I have thought about them constantly and I know under all that hate, they will have thought about me too.

 

I wrote a couple of poems about today…

 

Memories

Runny noses and grubby faces
Shouting Boo from hidden places
Make shift tents made from chairs
Searching out favourite bears

Bedtime stories till eyelids drooped
Bubble baths where bodies were scooped
Into waiting towels warmed and ready
Learning to ride – mum hold me steady

Creepy crawlies all inspected
Choosing sweets chocolate rejected
Toothless smiles and hidden coins
Which the tooth fairy would purloin

Imaginations left to run wild
Encouraged for my beautiful child
Mum I love you kiss me good night
Don’t go far out of sight

Little hands seeking out mine
Constant questions asking why?
Fighting brothers in imagined anger
Teaching about stranger danger

Bunches of flowers shyly given
From next doors garden that were striven
Late nights on special occasions
Early mornings brought frustrations

Waking up from Childhood dreams
When nightmares turned them into screams
Watching TV on rainy days
Then puddle jumping in suns rays

Where rainbows lit up the sky
All this I remember of times gone by
When all I yearned was to be your mum
I love you always please come home

 

 

I also wrote at this time last night… just before midnight…

 

Mothers Day

Tomorrow will be special
For mothers everywhere
For the love they offer always
And that special way they care

When they are told they are loved
By the children that they bore
With hand made cards and gifts
Their value they reassure

But we are mothers too
Denied our children in our life
No card or gift for us again
The day for us is strife

We have to get through it
This day we just endure
No childish giggles we will hear
No knocking on our door

No bunches of flowers that bear our name
Off grown up children either
No telephone calls wishing us well
No grandchildren who might mither

To sit on our knee or beg a hug
No this day for us is grey
We want to bury our heads
And hide ourselves away

So rejoice in the bask of love
In the reflected glory
As you’re thanked for your love
Remember please our story

It’s wonderful to be a parent
We’ve stretch marks to prove our worth
That we were once a proper mum
To the children to whom we gave birth

And a mother is a mother
The title cannot be taken
So absent mums let’s celebrate
Because your children are merely mistaken

They hold beliefs that are wrong
Their love for you isn’t lost
One Mother’s Day they will be back
And eventually aside you won’t be tossed

You will be back in the limelight
The centre of attention
On your special day
And the past you won’t have to mention

So until that day comes
I’m right beside you here
Crying over the days we’ll miss
Holding them in my heart so dear

 

Four more minutes and the torment is over…

 

 

Mothers Day

It’s Mothers Day in two days and I tried to get to see my y0ungest son, I rang up today to ask. I got a teenage boy voice newly broken, demanding money for his father off me. Dad’s bought a bed you should pay half, he needs more maintenance, you should buy me this buy me that. Alienation goes beyond controlling and brainwashing the child. Ultimately its about money, they all come down to demanding as much money as they can off you, these targeting parents.

 

I batted off the demands, stated if his father had a problem let him speak to me, the man in the background listening to it all, stayed silent, like the coward he is. My son returned to money again. I don’t want to see you, you know why! He said. Why I asked. You just know why! In reality he has no reasons and he knows it, its just blurb, filler, to throw me off from asking. The only thing I could do was to talk of old memories, old lovely memories of his childhood, he listened and went quiet, I know he was remembering too. But the alienator was close by and the pressure to deflect me off and to throw my worth away was ever present and so after denying these memories ever took place, a minute or so later – he suddenly slammed the phone down. Obviously he couldn’t handle the feelings of conflict it all raised in him.

 

My poor sweet loving son, reduced to hate speech and denial. I will spend Mothers Day remembering the wonky cards, the cold cups of tea when I only drink coffee, the half cooked toast slathered with hard butter, brought me in bed at 7am on the special morning. I will remember the the love and the giggles and the special dinners I would cook. I will laugh and cry and I will have a look at my stretch marks in the mirror to remind myself that, they might be erased but I carried them and I own that title – MOTHER and whatever he does, its a life time achievement award!!

Blog – Broken Voice, Broken Heart

I haven’t seen my youngest son since Christmas day, for an hour where we sat in the back of my car whilst he opened the sack of presents I and his maternal family had bought him.  I’ve rang every alternate Friday since in the hopes of a contact visit, only to have the phone slammed down on me.

Whilst lay in bed full of this blasted flu bug earlier this week, I longed to hear his voice, I braved ringing the paternal grandmother’s house phone, where he now lives with my ex. He’s blocked me on his phone, so it was my only option. This time, he spoke. “What have you rang for?” He demanded. I was thrown that he had spoken and more thrown because his voice has clearly broken since Christmas, another milestone I have missed.

 

He then proceeded to accuse me of all sorts of so-called misdemeanors  for the next 30 minutes, which I tried to fight off because it’s no use getting into a war of words, he is living in a war zone already. I heard my ex in the back ground, feeding him what to say. I kept telling my son how much I loved him, how intelligent he sounded in his reasoning, surely a doctor or scientist in the making, as he explained alas, that he has 23% of my dna in him. He went on to explain more facts and figures I neither registered or cared too because it’s all just bluff. Bluff and bluster to fit in with Dads views of me, mum. I don’t give dad enough CSA payments, I should work more hours. The next minute I was accused of not working at all and leaching off my husband. I pointed out the contradictions in his thinking but its hopeless when they are so brainwashed they would believe day is night for the alienating parent.

 

I gave up and put the phone down saying I loved him.  After a few minutes, call it obstinacy, foolishness or sheer desperation I rang back. He answered with a ding ding round two… I told him I wasn’t there to argue my intention had been to say I loved him and I think of him all the time, as I do his eldest brother. He laughed, a hollow empty laugh. “Why don’t you pay Dad more money if you loved me you would?” I asked “How much does he want me to pay then? £100 more, £200 or £1000? Would it mean I got to see you?”  “Erm maybe not!” he stated firmly. “Then money isn’t the root of the problem then is it?” I replied and he stuttered.” Put your father on if he wants to discuss money, this isn’t a conversation for you and I!”. Suddenly I heard the voice of the man who has caused me all this untold pain. “I have nothing to say to you!” he said in a dramatic voice and the next minute my son was back, cajoling for more money. Typical they are cowards, “So you are the mouth piece and voice for your dad then?” I confirmed. “No!” my son said vehemently. “But I gave your dad the opportunity to discuss his concerns like adults and hes passed the phone back to you!” I stated,. My son denied this and changed the subject.

 

I did too, I told him that he might say he hates me.. “Who said I Hate you?” he cut in.. “Well you obviously don’t love me..” I let it hang in the air. The kind caring boy I knew and love, came out, the authentic son. “I never said I don’t love you and I said I loath you I didn’t say I hate you!” he said sheepishly.  Confliction in his voice so strong, I wanted to weep. “No matter how hard you deny me, your heart wont stop loving me or missing me you know this!” I said quietly. “Tell me that the last thought  before you sleep at night, isn’t me!” I said firmly. He was quiet, stuttering, “No, No!” I said just as quietly, “Do you remember the times I made your favourite meals, the times when you were ill and I would sit by your bedside all night if needs be?” he was quiet listening. I had sent him a poem I had written. He told me I had copied and pasted it. I laughed and said, actually its one I wrote. He was struck dumb. I knew by sending a poem it would reach him like a text or letter would not. My son loves poetry, the eldest does too. I sent it hoping both would see it.

 

I told him it was no use carrying on, we weren’t getting anywhere, going round in circles and I was not about to listen to any more meaningless accusations that simply were not true. I told him I loved him always, yet again. I told him I would wait forever and one day he would join me in No Man’s Land, as my poem had spoken out to him.

 

I said goodbye and I rang off as this tiny, adolescent voice said Bye to me too, because under it all, he misses me just as much as I mourn him.

 

~This is hell…. I want it to end.

 

No Mans Land

I found myself thrust onto this battlefield
With no armour and no weapons
I didn’t want to have to defend myself
From the war of words that hit me
So to every hate filled bomb
I said I love you
To every evil stare
I smiled back
To every blasphemous rejection
I said, I will wait for ever
And I climbed out of the trenches
It was no place for me
Or for you
I ducked the crossfire
And I kept on walking towards you
I scrambled over barbed wire
Till I was in No Mans Land
It’s lonely and it’s barren here
I’m all alone
But You know I’m here
And I know you’re there
Suddenly, somebody shouts “Fire…”
And your words scream out
Trained, with precision, to kill
But You know I won’t fire back
For one day
You will lay down your arms of war
And You will cross that big divide
You will open your arms with love
And you will run to find me …

 

Blog -Spit Marks

Bought my husband  a new, well nearly new laptop for his recent birthday. I’m full of flu but wanted to post some of my poems.. I can’t rest the laptop on my tum alas it’s too rotund – so asked my hubby to pass me some cushions or pillows to lean on. He comes in looking sheepish.. he’s got me three pillows off my sons bed, in the bedroom that’s lain empty for a year.. the cushions still have his spit marks on from where he sucked his thumb.. even at thirteen he still needed that comfort.  I burst into tears, I cant sniff them, the flu has put paid to me currently smelling anything but they are in essence my son, in his favourite colours. Something so simple,  needing some pillows to bolster the laptop up and its so painful.

 

Living grief, disenfranchised grief, there are many names for it. All  I know is that when my father died, I grieved, I still miss him, but I accepted he was gone and that was life and its ebb and flow. With parental alienation, our children kill us off in their heads and we therefore have to try to kill them off just to survive. But how do you forget your own child? If you have the answer please tell  me, as I sit here typing, with tears wet on my lashes.