holyoutlaw

My mother died eleven months ago, two days after my birthday, which was a surprise. Death wasn't a surprise, she'd been courting him for months, sulking when he didn't pay enough attention. It was a surprise that she didn't take my anniversary and make it her own, it would have been such an on-brand thing to do.

She took way my peace and retirement for most of last year. Every week I was going into the back of the cave, knowing exactly which monster was lurking in the dark, yet always unable to defend myself.

She took away my safety and affection. When I was three and my brother still a little baby I tried to climb onto her lap for a cuddle. 'No, that's for babies, and you aren't a baby any more. Your brother is the baby of the family now.'

She took away our toys. As soon as we showed attachment to them, and before they looked too well-loved, she'd declare that we had outgrown them and package them up to be given away.

She took our memories away. She constantly rewrote everything that happened to fit her narrative of the moment. All narratives were required to present her in absolutely the best light and were subject to change without notice and without acknowledging that change had occurred. Refer to the wrong version of events and you were in trouble for lying. Turns out that in this situation a child stops forming memories. My brother and I have been trying, since her death, to untangle, interpolate, extrapolate, and figure out pieces of our shared history.

She took our stuff away. After her death we found things that belonged to us secreted away in cupboards. The newest thing was my brother's unused food processor, hidden at the back of the wardrobe behind her coats. One of the oldest things was the recipe book I had compiled (and covered in sticky back plastic) in school cookery lessons.

She took our friends away, if we weren't careful. We learned not to talk too much about people, not to take them home, or she'd try to pull them away, attenuating the friendship.

She took away our enthusiasms. Both my brother and I inherited our father's nerdery and excitement about all manner of niche and random things. It was brilliant to share things with Dad. But mother didn't share, she needed to be the centre of attention, and had to burst that enthusiasm-bubble whenever she felt threatened.

She took away our Dad. She kept very few of his effects when he died, or maybe she didn't let him have much in the first place. And she didn't allow us space to grieve for him. As we sorted through her belongings we found just a few of Dad's tiny treasures that held stories, connections, grief. It was eleven years late, but not too late.

She failed to take my brother and I away from each other. She did try, repeatedly. The cruelest way she did it, was when she told me that my success at school was detrimental to my brother and that I would henceforward receive no praise (though I should understand that both parents were always proud of me). I accepted that, she kept her word, I nurtured a massive lack of self-esteem. Meanwhile, and without my knowledge she repeatedly chastised my brother for stupidity and laziness (he was actually dyslexic, which she refused to accept), holding me up as an example. It took us about thirty years to piece that one together. It's amazing that my brother didn't learn to hate me and that we've always been there to support each other.

I thought we'd be there to support each other for many years to come, properly reconnecting without my mother's malignant presence. Six weeks ago, however, my brother was diagnosed with cancer. It's aggressive, it's stage 4, it's untreatable, and it's going to take my brother away from me far, far too soon. I've been stuck, frozen, full of anxiety and panic, clumsy, chaotic, but it's a journey and I've reached the part where I am mostly inexpressibly sad.