Motherless Daughter

This is part of my story - it was written when I was 53 years old, 45 years after my Mother's death...

45 years on...

I was 8 years old when my mother died in 1959. We lived in a medium-size town in rural Australia. I was one of 5 children [4 boys and me]. I was the 4th child. I think we had a good, solid family life. Dad worked and Mum stayed home and raised her family, as was the custom in that era. Dads didn't do stuff inside the house back then - their domain was purely outside - looking after the vegie garden and the chooks in the back yard! Up until Mum's death, everything seemed normal, or at least from an 8-year old's perspective. There wasn't much difference between our family and those of our neighbours! However, with the sudden death of our Mother our whole worlds were turned upside down and torn apart. It's a strange thing that you don't know what you have until it's taken away from you. We had no idea how important our Mother was in our lives - until she was no longer there! She was the glue that stuck our family together! From that time on, our lives spiralled ever downward and there didn't seem to be anything we could do to stop the slide. Oh! We weren't aware that this was happening - at the time! It's only as we look back that we can see how different we all are, as opposed to how we might have been, had life taken a different course for us.

In those days there were no such services as counsellors or grief-management classes / sessions / seminars. As a child it was considered that I had no feelings and could therefore not experience pain! After all, pain was only something that 'big' people felt! What would an 8 year old know about pain and suffering? What would an 8 year old know about the sting of death?

I still remember the excrutiating pain and torture that went on inside my head as I searched for answers that no-one was willing to give; I wasn't even able to ask the questions - who would I ask? Little girls didn't tell their fathers of the pain inside their heads and hearts [well, this little girl didn't], especially when I could see the pain in his face; the pain in his whole being! When you can see that all of a sudden his world had collapsed and yet here he was with 5 small children; who all wanted to be fed and bathed and clothed; 5 small children who didn't understand what was going on; 5 small children who had a right to life; 5 small children who each desperately needed their mother's love. He came from a stoic family where you didn't show your emotions easily and our mother was the exact opposite! She loved mothering her 5 children; she loved to love us; she loved to hug, kiss and caress us, she healed our pains with her kisses and hugs as she ministered the medicines and wrapped the bandages around our wounds; she simply loved loving her family [this piece of the jigsaw puzzle only came to light several decades after her death – at the time, I didn’t know that she loved her family as much as she did. I didn’t know that it was her love that I missed so much. It was only when I was talking to an aunt who knew her that all of this was revealed to me and it immediately made sense of much of my pain. From this world of affectionate and open love, I had been thrust into a world where love wasn’t displayed or shown and it was this lack of love that hurt the most].

I spent one full year with my brothers and father after mum's death and then was told that I would be moving to my paternal grandparents home in the city! I was told that it was not proper for a young lady to continue living in a houseful of men! But these weren't men! These were my father and my brothers! However, the older generation knew what they were doing and so the die was cast! At that time, I changed from belonging to a medium-sized family to being brought up as an only child! An only child in a home where love wasn't shown; where love wasn't demonstrated in hugs and hisses; where love didn't include chatting and talking endlessly [as most girls are want to do]; where love didn't offer sympathy, compassion and empathy; where love didn't just reach out to where I was at; where love didn't offer to ease the pain in my heart; where love didn’t see the needs I had; where love seemed so far away! I was desperately lonely and my heart was breaking into tiny pieces. I didn't know how I was ever going to survive. I withdrew into myself and outwardly became this stoic person who showed no emotion; who preferred to remain in isolation from her peers; who did as she was asked without questioning; who became a puppet, both at home and within her society. I neither received love nor gave it!

I remember being curled up in my bed sobbing myself to sleep, night after night as I continued the search to understand what was happening. I remember dreaming that her death was a mistake and that her body would be exhumed and it would be discovered that she was still alive! I dreamt that my pain would end with life being restored to her bones. It wasn't for decades later that I realised that I was searching for love. I remember the pain, the agony, the total loss of life, the total loss of a future. It was during this period of my life that I made a resolve to myself that I would NEVER marry, I would NEVER have children of my own. I must have been about 10 or 11 at the time. I remember saying that I would NOT put another person through this pain by me dying on them prematurely. I would not, could not, take the risk of putting a child of mine through this torture!

I continued with my schooling but never studied diligently. Oh! Sure, I passed all my exams, just! I only needed 50% to pass! I usually got 65+% but I didn't really care. I never studied prior to an examination. I figured that what I didn't know at the time of the exam, no amount of swatting at the last minute was going to help me and so I didn't do anything at all. I totally relied on my memory. I only ever did the most basic of homework – enough not to be told off by the teachers. I never read during my school years. Sure! We would go to the Library every week and we had to borrow books but I never opened them. In fact, many years later, I was talking to our Librarian and she remembered me. She remembered that I was the girl who never read anything. She knew by the books I chose that I never opened them; there was never any pattern to my choice of books and they were simply not the type of books that most girls my age would choose. Although, there was one book which impacted my life. It was Charlotte Bronte’s “Jane Eyre”. I related to her loveless life and it was a book that I enjoyed [I only read it because it was one of our study books and not because I stumbled across it on the Library shelves]. It was from this book that I wrote pages and pages in our English Literature class – it was the exception in my life. I never excelled at anything in school, whether it be in the academic or sporting arenas. I was really a no-one! All of my report cards always said the same thing 'could do better'. It was to be a pattern for much of my early life! I didn't have any interest in living. I didn't see a future for myself and therefore I had nothing to strive for, nothing to work towards! What good would it do me to get good grades at school? It seemed like a hopeless situation and so I just lived from one day to the next, half expecting not to be around for my next birthday or the next Christmas! As soon as I could leave school, I did!

The 1960's was an era in which you chose your career path. The world was your oyster! You could do whatever you wanted as in every walk of life there were more jobs on offer than people to fill them. You could be anything you wanted. So, what would I do? I didn't know and I didn't really care - I just wanted to work - to put an end to the schooling era of my life. I went to the Employment Agency where a kind lady ran through a long list of options. What would I like to do? The lady systematically ran through the list, explaining to me what was involved and what opportunities there were for climbing the respective corporate ladders! Well, for sure, I wasn't interested in climbing any corporate ladders. Towards the end of her list, she read out "telephonist". Well, I had never heard of that word, we didn't even own a telephone! But something about the description ran deep within me. I wanted to explore this option in more detail. The lady offered for me to go and look at the Central Telephone Exchange and to discuss with their recruitment officer, what was involved in working for this Government Department. And so I did! And as I did, something urged me to follow through with this option. A spark ignited inside of me and set me alight. I discovered that the next set of entry examinations would be held in January and so enthusiastically, I enrolled for the exam. I not only passed but I did extremely well in it and was offered a job at the next intake. So, in March 1966, I started work. I had to attend telephonist school for one month which entailed weekly examinations - if you failed at any of these exams, you were out of the class! I came top of the class every week, such was my enthusiasm, passion & desire to learn. Consequently, one month later, I started actual work as a fully fledged telephonist but for the first six months I was still on probation - I would not be offered permanency until that 6 months had lapsed and at that time, I needed a full medical examination as well as providing official documentation as to who I was [ie birth certificate, parent's wedding certificate, any relevant death certificates, etc]. During this whole period my father tried to talk me out of the job. Why would I want to be a telephonist and he pointed out all the negative aspects of the job but, no! this is what I wanted to do. And so, 6 months later, I dutifully collected all the necessary documentations. It was at this time that I discovered that my mother had been a telephonist at the time of her marriage. I had no idea! It confirmed to me that this path I had chosen was correct and I knew at that time, that I would not only love the job but would excel at it. Which I did! I also discovered a half-cousin of my mother's who was also working at the same Exchange and immediately, we bonded! This was where I was meant to be.

One year later, our father died - probably of a broken heart! During this period, I had moved back into the family home with Dad and my brothers (who, by then had relocated to the city) but it wasn't a happy home. I had run away from my grandmother's love-less bondage but what I hadn't bargained on was that I had run from the fying pan straight into the fire! Love was totally void inside those 4 walls! Love had been replaced by a loveless acceptance of the situation we were in, anger, bitterness and depression. Dad had 'divorced' himself from his children, possibly due to his own pain and suffering and a lack of support for himself. I am sure he felt a total failure not only to himself but to us, his children. His death came as a release for all of us. From that day on, we never spoke about our "previous" life and even to this day [45 years later], we still haven't spoken about that time of our lives. At the time of his death, I was only 3 weeks into my 17th year and not only had both of my parents died but so had all 4 of my grandparents and several aunts and uncles. I was no stranger to death but its sting had stung me. Death had helped me build a thick stone wall, firmly cemented into place, around my heart that was almost inpenetrable. Until, that is, I met the man who was to become my husband. I married a wonderful, loving, caring, compassionate man, who came from a loving, caring, compassionate family but strangely enough we have never had children! The stone wall surrounding my heart eventually tumbled down, stone by stone they were painstakingly removed but it took several decades of constant love by my husband for even this to happen. Unfortunately, at the first hint of hurt or with the threat of personal safety, the wall wants to rebuild itself - I think this pattern will continue for the rest of my life. I don't give my heart away lightly but when I do, it is forever! It has taken the love of my husband together with the love of Christ for the stones to be kept at bay!

45 years on, I would say that the hurt of my mother's death is still there. Time may ease the pain but it doesn't take it away. I know I would have had a different life had she lived but she didn't! In hindsight, I have not always made good choices in life but I must live with the choices that I have made.

I first came across Hope Edelman’s book “Motherless Daughters” not long after it was released in Australia - I heard about it on our local radio, when she was being interviewed. I bought a copy and not only have I read it several times but I have also lent it to numerous people in the hope that they, too, would get something out of it. The aspect of most help I received from the book was confirmation and affirmation of my situation. I realized that I was not alone in my grief and nor how I coped [or rather, didn’t cope] with it]. I also found the statistical data at the back of the book to be rather revealing and again, it confirmed where I had been for most of my life. The book certainly helped me along the path to coming to terms with being a motherless daughter! But, as a Christian I need, also, to acknowledge that most of my healing came through the love of Christ Himself as He ministered His comfort, love and a peace that can come from no-one or no-where else! In His healing, He used many resources [like Hope’s book] and people – each of whom, or which, played an important part.

It is too late now to find people who knew her – that whole generation have passed into the next phase of their lives &/or death and so I must be content with the scant knowledge I have of her. I would desperately like to know what was she really like; what were her main interests & hobbies; what made her passionate; what made her who she was. In what ways am I like her? But all of that is now relegated to my dreams and whatever fantasy I choose to weave! I will never know! Not now!

Footnote: While this was written for a particular purpose (as part of my healing plan and journey), I do need to note that there were some brighter times in my life during this whole period. One cannot go through life without both ups and downs - or downs and some ups!

I had an Uncle and Aunt who kept an eye out for me and as opportunity arose, would invite me to their home for some respite with my cousins - these were always treasured times. Or was it giving respite to my grandparents for some time without me???

When my grandparents would visit their siblings in Western Victoria, I would go with them and really, really enjoyed times with different cousins, uncles and aunts. My life wasn't totally all doom and gloom - even though at times it seemed like it. It's funny how the hard times in our life can easily dominate or mask the good!

I need to also acknowledge that my seniors did what they thought was right at the time. It was a difficult situation (and I know that some relationships in the family were fairly fragile, at the time) and I know they discussed it at some length and decided on a course of action which they believed was the right one. In hindsight, it's a pity there was no room for a review of that decision in the months and years ahead nor an opportunity for me to have a say - I possibly would have opted to live with my maternal grandmother in the town of my birth but, following an 'incident', all communication was cut off from her - she dared to send me birthday and Christmas gifts without doing the same for my brothers - I was told to write and tell her that I was not to have anything further to do with her and I had to return all the gifts she had given me!!! It was a man's world and who was I but a mere girl!!! All through those years I was building up so many points to forgive others for my attitude; and they kept piling up, one on top of the other... and yet, many years on I have been able to forgive. I still have the memories but not the anger and hatred that once went with them.

In the mid 1990s, I made contact with my Aunt, who lived in WA - I wanted to share with her some of my story and not so much the early years (although that formed the basis of the story, and in part she already knew much of it - just not from my perspective) but more importantly, I wanted to share with her where I was 'today'. And following on from that chat (which went for ages upon ages), she wrote several letters to me, which provided some background information to which I had not been privy and it further helped me to sort things out in my head and move forward in a new way. Of course, all reflections are with the wisdom, knowledge and experience of hindsight but all-the-same, it was lovely to read her words to me - I found them very encouraging and sometimes very insightful - if only we can turn back the clock but of course; we can't. Each of us makes our decisions on the day for this and/or that reason and then whatever happens afterwards, we have to live with those decisions as best as we can. Life this side of Heaven is not perfect, it never has been and it never will be.

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