I Lived In My Mother's Place

2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43

When I was four years old, my mother died. I didn't understand at all what had happened. I grew up in love and affection of an infinite number of aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, a wonderful daddy. And my mother seemed to have left, and she just needs to wait.

And then I grew up. My habitat expanded, I could independently comprehend the geography of a small village. And meet people. Completely unfamiliar. Not for them. Many called me by my mother's name, then they were surprised at the similarity and always told me what a wonderful person my mother was. Others simply shook their heads and sympathetically pronounced the hated "Orphan …"

By the age of 12, I learned to defend myself, boldly answering that I have a mother, and I'm not an orphan - my father got married a year after my mother's death. This was followed by the even more disgusting word "She is not native." "Dear!" - I shouted and ran away.

And into the depths of my fragile body, a vile slippery worm has already penetrated and sharpened it from the inside: “You are an orphan. Your mom is dead. You are not native. You are a stranger. You are bad…"

Our family did not talk about my mother's death. Therefore, I could not discuss with anyone new information coming from outside, and my childhood experiences. And only when dad got drunk (and it happened quite often), he sat me down in front of him and talked about mom. I was afraid of these conversations, ashamed of them. It seemed to me that in this way I betray my new mother, and I wanted to listen. Like beads, I strung grains of knowledge about my mother on the strings of my feelings - and blamed myself for the fact that I live, but she is not.

And then they demolished the cemetery where my mother rested. Her ashes could be transferred to another place, but for some reason, dad did not do this. Later, he casually explained that he did not want to disturb her. I still remember how a wild wave of guilt rolled over me, and one thing pounded in my temples: “It's my fault! I didn’t insist, I didn’t demand! I had to do it!"

But it finally nailed, crushed me by the information of one of the aunts about how my mother died. She suffered from a latent form of tuberculosis. She could have lived for a very long time, if, if … "Don't wake a sleeping dog" …

Mom really wanted a second child. More for me than for myself. She grew up in a large family and valued relationships with her siblings. She really wanted my family to be with me. The doctors' bans did not work. Pregnancy triggered the activity of the deadly stick. Mom died with a baby under her heart.

The mosaic was lined up, the puzzles matched, the last stroke completed the picture.

“If not for me, she would have lived! I am to blame for everything! I am bad! What can I do?!"

So, or something like that, thoughts raced in my head.

Then my life was built according to the following scheme: successful development - top - collapse. This concerned all aspects of my life, be it professional activity, career, romance, several failed marriages, apartment renovation, travel, baking pies …

I LIVED INSTEAD OF MOTHER. How else could I redeem myself? What more could she do for her but not give her life?

I strived to be successful - after all, that was my mother. I created, sculpted, created something new - after all, my mother wanted a child. I was ready to show the world my brainchild - and I destroyed everything. After all, my mother died, she did not have time to give birth. And if I finish my job, it will no longer be her, but I, rubbish and creature, I have no right to life, I have no right to success. This is my mother, my mother, must live. And with the last of my strength I rose from the ruins, rushing into a new flight.

But I learned all this about myself only recently, several years ago, when the likelihood of meeting my mother somewhere in the skies became maximum. And then I wanted to live. To grasp it with your teeth, grasp it with your hands, rest your feet on this beautiful thing - LIFE.

What changed?

The spine straightened. Scoliosis has crooked my back so much, and only sheep's weight saved me from breaking my body. The breast has increased. Hair became more luxuriant. Women's diseases were ordered to live long. I have successfully completed several projects. Men love me, although for this I do nothing.

I sent pies, cakes, pies, buns to hell, and I prefer the dough in the form of finished products.

I realized that I am me, and my mother is my mother. She made her choice, and I respect him. I bow my head before her courage to enter the race with death, but now I live the way I want myself …