Thicker than water

Preface:

“He wants to see you”

My Mum stands at the door. She’s dressed in casual jeans and a T-shirt, with a long coat, still damp from the pathetic excuse for snow falling outside. I almost laugh when I remember the first time she went to visit. She had no clue what to wear, and spent five hours trying on outfit after outfit, putting her hair up and then down, questioning heels or no heels. It took her another six months to get used to it. I’m not completely sure that that’s a good thing. Getting used to it.

I stay silent in the hopes that she’ll leave. To begin with, I thought she understood. I thought she was on my side for once instead of his, but when his first Birthday away hit, she finally cracked. She spent the entirety of our bank holiday talking about it, and all of my birthday away visiting him.

A year on, and at half eleven on My Birthday- The 15th of Agust- she’s all ready to leave. By the time she gets back, my 15th will be gone, she’ll be in a miserable mood, and he’ll have taken yet another birthday from me. I’m sure that my therapist would have something to say to my attitude. She understands why I don’t want to see him, but doesn’t support it. She, and all the others before her think I need closure; that our family needs closure. She tells me I’m lucky he’s alive, that I should be grateful for what I do have. All I can think is that I’m lucky I’m alive.

With my Mum’s understanding side gone, returns the belief that I need to see him. Talk to him. For the past Four months it’s either ‘He wants to see you’ or ‘He misses you’ or ‘He keeps asking for you and I don’t know what to say to him’. To begin with I think she was just lonely. Then she began to feel bad, or rather he made her feel guilty about it all. She believed me, I mean she had to, she was there; she saw it. Eventually she believed us both, the way she saw it fairest. She wanted everything to go back to the way it was before. To go back to before the two hour bus journey trip once a month. Before the therapist bills and the broken family and the nightmares. She just wished that it would all go back to normal so much, that a year after it happened, she believed that it could, and would be fine.That he was normal again. That he had changed.

I sigh and shake my head, trying not to feel guilty. I can feel the familiar lump forming in my throat which settles uncomfortably, waiting for the water works. I swallow had, steady my voice and reply as casually as possible,

“I have work to do. If I get it done with now I’ll be free to hang out with friends when they’ve got back from their holidays.”

I can’t help but let the angry note in my voice, because, well, I am angry. I hear my mother sigh heavily, as though I’m an average stroppy teenager refusing to do her chores. After a minute of standing there making me feel guilty she turns to leave. I can't help but feel hard done by. We have more than enough money and the time to go on holiday, she just doesn't want to leave him. Though she'd never admit it aloud, she feels guilty that I'm with her and he's behind a locked gate.