«Pick Up the Pieces in Your Own Backyard»
«Youre being daft, Marianne, completely daft! That husband of yours, Alexander, will leave you high and dry one day! Hasnt he put you through enough already?» Mum never minced her words when it came to my husband.
«Mum, Alex and I have been together for thirty-seven years, and all this time youve been warning me about him! Please, just stay out of it!» I snapped into the phonenot for the first time.
I avoided seeing Mum too often because I knew the conversation would always turn to what a scoundrel my husband was. Id grown tired of defending him, even though there was some truth in her words.
Years ago, when I was younger and foolish, I left Alex and went back to Mum. Our son, Andrew, was five. Wed had a terrible row, and I ended up in hospital with a concussion. I thought it was the enddivorce and single motherhood awaited. After being discharged, I went to Mums, where Andrew had stayed while I was recovering.
Mum sighed heavily and declared, «See? I was right. That mans a monster! Stay here. Your father and I will help you raise Andrew.»
«Ill think about it,» I muttered, exhausted and unsure what to do.
«Dont thinkjust stay! That brute could hurt Andrew next! I wont let you go back!» She sounded ready to barricade us in.
Mum had despised Alex from the start, refusing to give me my dowry when we married. «Let your wonderful fiancé clothe and feed you,» shed sneered.
A week later, Alex came to apologise, but Mum slammed the door in his face. I was out walking with Andrew and only found out about it later from Alex himself.
After a month of thinking, I decided to return to my husband. Every marriage has its rough patches. Besides, I loved himalways had. He was the only man Id ever been with.
I found an excusecollecting winter clothes for Andrew and meand slipped away from Mums to see Alex. He was overjoyed to see us. Our family was whole again. Mum was furious.
Truth be told, Mum and I had never clashed before. She was kind, caring, wonderfulbut there was a skeleton in her closet, one I stumbled upon at fourteen.
While digging through the attic for a school globe, I found her old diary buried under magazines. Curious, I opened it. God, I wish I hadnt.
Turns out, Mum gave me up to a childrens home after I was borndespite having plenty of family. My supposed father had refused to acknowledge me, saying, «How do I know its mine?» The man who raised me wasnt my real father. Mum wrote about «hard times» and finally reclaiming me a year laterthanks to my aunt shaming the family into it.
That evening, I confronted Mum. Without reading a word, she tore the diary to shreds. But Id already seen enough.
From then on, an invisible wall rose between us. I felt betrayed. The anger inside me hardened. The bond between mother and daughter was broken for good.
I swore then that my children would be raised by their real parentsno stepfathers or stepmothers.
Alex, sensing Mums hatred, suggested having another childthinking she wouldnt dare take two grandchildren from him. I agreed.
When Paul was born, Mum raged, «That tyrants gone and tied you down with another child! And youre foolish enough to trust him! That dogs cheating left and right. Youll regret this, mark my words…»
She wasnt wrong. Alex was a charmer, and women clung to him like wet leaves. There were plenty of tears.
The day I ended up in hospital, wed fought over one of his flings. Shed waltzed into our house, thinking I was at workbut Id left early with a headache.
I walked in to find them half-dressed in our bedroom, drinking champagne. Before I could react, the girl bolted, shoving me aside. I fell, hit my head, and woke up concussed.
Alex behavedbrieflybut he was incorrigible. Coworkers, old flames, strangershis affairs were endless. Still, I thanked God he never fathered children outside our marriage. That wouldve been a tragedy.
Years later, my son Andrew repeated historyfathering a child with another woman while married. Children suffer from their parents mistakes. Hed learned too well from his father.
Ill never understand what Mum wants. Once youve married off your daughter, your jobs done. Be there, visit, love your grandchildrenbut dont interfere unless asked. Let adults live their own lives, make their own mistakes.
As my nan used to say, «Tend to your own garden.»
This generational clash will never end. People keep making the same mistakes, refusing to listen.
Mum and I havent spoken in three years. She tells anyone wholl listen that my husband isnt fit to lick my boots.
But maybe, Mum, I deserve exactly the man I chose.
I wouldnt want any other.
