Saturday, May 16, 2009
Streaky reflections from Brisbane Water Drive Koolewong
Was going to blog a stack of walkies photos today but there's a post I've been trying to get off my chest for a bit and now is the time.
My mother died 18 months ago. She had cancer and went twenty years ahead of her time.
Technically it was the cancer that killed her but there's a bloody good chance she would have beaten it if she'd got a bloody divorce.
I never understood my mother. She was a person of normal intelligence, not an idiot, she got along with people, she appeared to outsiders to be living a normal life. But behind closed doors she was the monster's keeper.
She threw her life away. She spent her entire adult life keeping my father out of the mental hospital. She refused to admit he was barmy. She spent her every waking moment pretending he was normal, that the daily foaming-at-the-mouth rants and the bizarre behaviour were "just his way".
Why? What the fuck was there that could possibly be gained from keeping an aggressive fuckwitted unmedicated nutter at large in the community? What possible advantage was to be had by his never being medicated?
It's not like she was happy when he was normal. Even when he wasn't having an episode, way back twenty years ago when he was still sane some days, even then he was a horrible prick.
What the fuck was wrong with her? What had gone so fundamentally fucking wrong that she thought staying married to an abusive nutter was worth doing?
I loved my mother but I will go to my own grave wondering what the fuck she thought she was doing.