I shall ALWAYS be your MUM

By Teresa Reynolds

Estrangement is difficult subject to discuss this is an honest look into a family who are broken. A mothers account of trying to understand and live with being estranged. A mothers love for her children happens from the moment of conception until her death,.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teresa Reynolds
• Release date: Nov 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781838248116

Book preview

Introduction

I shall ALWAYS be your Mum

Although estrangement between a parent and a child is not unheard of, it is comparatively rare (especially between a mother and child), and it is especially unusual for a mother to lose contact with both her two children.

After that happened to me, and devastated by the reality of it, I decided to write down my thoughts on what had led to the situation, at first just because I needed to find an explanation for why this had happened, and I also wanted, if possible, to find a solution - a way to put things right.

During my early research of the subject, through books and internet sources, I discovered that most parents in my situation seem to keep their family estrangement secret, and they certainly don’t write about it with a view to getting published. There was very little material out there, particularly for someone like me – a mother disowned by both her children.

I am not a professional writer and I have no previous experience of self-publishing, so this book has taken me several years to finish, with a lot of changes and additions to my very first draft.

The process of thinking about and writing down how I see the history that led to the estrangement has been very painful, and at times deeply depressing, but as I have gone over it all again and again, sometimes leading to revision of parts of what I had written, I have at least come to terms with what happened, and at some stage of the process I saw the possibility of my story being of help to others in my position or a similar position, and I thought that turning my experience into a book and sharing it might be worthwhile.

You will read a lot of my anger and hurt on many of the pages that follow, so you will soon see that I wasn’t being falsely modest at the start of this introduction - I am no trained or professional writer, and I have written from my heart. I am a person of passion, and the emotion fills over sometimes. My early writing in particular is basic, and there have had to be re-writes on that count alone before the final version, but I wanted to keep some of my original writing in the final version, so that the book reflects how I was feeling at different times when I was writing a particular section. I hope this helps you to feel my growth from the start of my project to its end, and to experience the ebbs and flows of the journey I embarked on when I started writing, which was at a point when my family had gone from being disjointed to being broken beyond full repair.

This book is not intended to be an autobiography – it addresses a single but major issue in my life - but I have had to go into particular parts of my life story in some depth to explain the context of the estrangement, and I hope those passages help my readers to understand why we (my children and I) got to where we are.

I have not changed the names of anyone mentioned in the story, because the book is not a work of fiction, but having said that I shall make it clear from the outset that what follows is how I have felt, what my eyes have seen, and how my heart has grieved. As with any life event or series of events, others will have their own account. I can only write what I have felt, but I hope that by the end of the book it is clear that I have tried, and still am still trying, to understand and see the world as others may have been seeing it. Nobody ever gets everything right.

Prologue

I am in my fifty second year of life and now I am approaching the fifth anniversary of being estranged from both my children , so I feel that this is the time to share one of the worst experiences a parent can suffer. I hope that this book may help any other parent who must live and cope with such estrangement and has asked the question, Why did this happen?

I have searched, looked both within and outside. I have looked at my life and how that could have played a part in what has happened. I don’t claim to have the answer but I have now found a state of acceptance.

I was once told by a therapist that I was a survivor, and I replied, No, I am not. I don’t want to be a survivor, as I’m not a victim - I am existing and one day I shall learn to live again .

Writing this book has been excruciatingly painful. I have cried more tears over the last few years than I have in my entire previous life, but I have also laughed, and drunk too much. I now know that there is life still out there for me, and that I too am allowed to be happy. After the perfect storm there are clouds and hazy sunshine. Then one day the sun shines fully again and I don’t have to feel guilty that I enjoy its warmth.

Towards the end of this book you will read some verse from the Bible. I know that this may be off putting to some readers but please embrace the words as part of my story. This book is about exploring and understanding being an estranged parent. I am not trying to convert anyone to Christianity, so please don’t judge the words I have chosen from the bible, but just open your heart and eyes to the underlying message from the book. Life is meaningless unless we can live now, and we can forgive and love one another.

I have described myself as estranged. Children are a common topic of conversation. You get asked certain questions in conversation almost as a matter of course, both by people you know well already and by people who are new to you.

How are the children?

Do you have children?

Where do your children live?

How old are your children?

In the early years after the estrangement I would take a deep breath and think about how I should answer. What was I supposed to say? It is easier to talk about cancer, or even death than to say, I am estranged from my children. It feels like saying that I murdered my children, or that I’m a bad parent. When I told people that I was estranged from my children I wondered immediately, Do you still want to talk to me?

I was the youngest of three children. I have a brother and a sister. I was born at home in a council house in a village in Berkshire, Bucklebury, which has been made famous, thanks to Kate Middleton. All three of us were wanted babies . We came from a loving family. We never had much, but nor did anyone else. I never felt that I went without, and I knew my parents did everything they possibly could for their family.

My dad was a long-distance lorry driver, and at some point he changed his hours and worked nights. I only remember really seeing him for tea (now called dinner). My mum worked in a bakery, and even today if I go into a real baker’s shop, the smell takes me back to my sitting in the bakery van doing the deliveries with my mum - that safe smell, that safe place, being with my mum.

I was a very shy child and I would sit in the footwell so nobody would see me. Mum later became a cleaner for a local family. She died one evening whilst babysitting. My life changed forever. I was fourteen, and the next year of my life I can hardly recall. I was left heartbroken.

Was that the start? Is that part of the answer to my question, Why did this happen?

1

1

Chapter 1 – South Africa : The end.

In 2014, Richard, my older child, then aged 25, had been offered a superb job in South Africa, a great opportunity for the little boy who had been so shy, cautious and over anxious. He was embarking on something far out of his comfort zone and doing it with gusto. During his childhood he had been so shy that he would literally push his sister to do the talking for him, and now he had become this confident young man, rising through the career he had mapped out for himself. I was so proud of him.

On Richard’s departure in August, 2014, my only request was for him to message or text me to let me know that he had arrived safely. I didn’t think I was an over-bearing mother, yet it was surely only natural that I would want to know he had arrived in one piece. It took him over a week to send me his first message, and this was after I had spent many anxious moments and sent several texts asking him how he was doing.

I was perplexed that he had not honoured my initial request, but as I look back, I see now how I had always made excuses for his malignant attitude towards me - his unkindness and his disrespect. So when it took him over a week to respond to my pleas, instead of rebuking him for not being in touch, I swallowed my anger and texted him back saying, Glad you are doing so well, though, in all honesty, I used the words with a slice of sarcasm – there I go again, excusing his lack of kindness.

Sarcasm was my natural way of getting back at those who hurt me, and still today it is a characteristic feature that I am acutely aware of, but which I try hard to catch before it does any damage. I now also realise that I made excuses for the many times Richard was rude to me, or about me, because that’s what mothers do, don’t they? His rudeness to me always seemed to be premeditated, as was the case here, and I just allowed it to happen again and again.

In August, 2014 then, Richard’s departure left me in Bromley and my twenty three year-old daughter, Emma, in Brighton, where she had stayed following her stint at university. With Christmas on the horizon, we both felt it would be good to spend that time in South Africa with Richard.

To keep things affordable, we arranged a three-week holiday, with him booking an apartment in Cape Town. The plan was to spend the first night at Richard’s apartment in Johannesburg, and to then drive the infamous Garden Trip to Cape Town, where we would celebrate Christmas and experience the wonders of that city.

Emma and I were really excited about the trip, and even more so when Richard told Emma he had met a girl and that she would be joining our family party for Christmas in Cape Town, though it would be just the three of us on the Garden trip. I was not surprised Richard hadn’t bothered to tell me his news and I simply chalked it up as " normal " behaviour for him. It did not diminish my excitement at the thought of seeing my son again after so many months of not hearing from him (even before he had left), other than through Emma. Also, it was to be our first ‘sunny’ Christmas together. What could possibly go wrong?

After a long (cheap) flight that took us from Gatwick via Jeddah – a dry airport, from which we had a dry onward flight - Emma and I arrived in Johannesburg to be met by Richard and his new beau, Thato. She had recently broken her knee and had her leg in plaster. I instantly saw how besotted Richard was with her and my first instincts were that here was someone who was taking every possible advantage of my son. I didn’t like it. I don’t know if my dislike showed, but I was not happy that Richard seemed to spend all his attention and energy on her and not on us. I did, however, decide to reserve final judgment until I got to know her better, but I do believe that first impressions count. By the end of the day, those first impressions proved to be entirely accurate.

Richard’s behaviour towards me seemed distant and disconnected. This worried me, but again I had only just arrived so maybe this feeling of my being an unwelcome guest was a figment of my imagination. What was obvious to me was that Richard was playing the alpha male role that he had practised a lot in his adolescence, especially after the failure of my third marriage. Here I saw him in full flow, and it seemed he was demonstrating to me that he was the man around here, so I had better pay attention.

All this may be the root of the estrangement that was to follow. In any event the trip that I had saved hard for was turning out to be not what I thought it would be. I had imagined seeing my son again and all of us just having a great time. The trip had started with a champagne breakfast for Emma and me, but was already slowly turning into one where no corkscrew could be found.

That first evening we went out for dinner in the gated community where Richard was living. I was astounded by the size of the place, and excited that outside the fences surrounding it was the ‘real’ Johannesburg. In fact, I was never to experience Johannesburg because that part of the trip was planned for after our return from Cape Town. Sadly, I was unable to return due to the events that were to unfold as the trip progressed. As to that night, Richard had only ever driven from the gated community to his place of work at the bank. He had never ventured into Johannesburg night life as he considered to do so would be reckless and unsafe. We bowed to his knowledge on the matter and, in any event, we would be heading out to Cape Town the very next morning.

I still had the distinct feeling of being unwelcome, a feeling that never left me throughout the whole trip. It was with that feeling that I arrived at Richard’s two bedroom flat, where it was clear Thato was also living. It did not seem much effort had been made to accommodate us at the flat, with my bed laden with clothes to be swept onto the floor, and Emma shown the sofa. Thato constantly used the word ‘we’ as if to emphasise that this was their place, Richard was her boyfriend, and our stay was subject to her rules.

They do say that sons are often attracted to women of the same calibre as their mothers, and I guess I should take that as a compliment, because Thato was a strong-minded woman, but I am sure that if I had been meeting my boyfriend’s family for the first time, I would have made more of an effort than she did. She seemed to relish being able to dominate Richard and she appeared to me to be using her injury to make sure that he gave her all his attention. It was very painful for me to watch my son become her ‘puppy’. I wanted to stop her abusing him in this way but I felt helpless.

The saga continued the next morning with the three of us