I Wanna Go Back
Curled up on the sofa, sleeping, or rather pretending to be, father will be in from the pub soon. I’m content, my kitten is curled up with me - something of my own to love in my infantile state and a supplanter for the lost sibling I’m still suppressing I’m grieving over at all.
Conditioned, feeling the chains of the designated little wife and mother role that has been thrust upon me. I’ve tried so much to kick fathers backside on this one – all I want him to do is go out and meet someone, stop making me the one felt obligated to fulfil his partner roles.
I refuse to stay in, go out as much as possible, try matchmaking him with friends mothers, just anything to get him, and his reliance on me, off my back, gone.
There is now some blind, unspoken game goes on. I’m on the sofa, just have to be THERE, dont have to be awake, nor talk, having shut down his verbal games long ago. Now I just play dead, sleeping and he will sit and ramble at me.
I’m set for another night of it.
But no, much to my joy, he does not come in – alone.
He thought he was threatening me,”If you dont stay in, I will have to go out to the pub, meet someone else.”
Warped ideals, my whole heart ached – please DO!
I hear two voices come in the door, am smiling, curl my head deeper into the blankets and give no response to his checks to see if I’m awake or sleeping.
The one thing I’m picking up about who he has brought in with him, is they are tender, caring, not bad. She is quiet, gently spoken, not arrogant, pushy or salacious.
Not once does she come near me, touch me, pawn over me, try to use me to enamour my father for her own gain. All her talk is honest, upright. The one time she makes a break to come near me is when my father leaves the room.
Any sick whore would already be using the ‘sleeping’ child to in road and impress the man, it is being noted in my vigilant mind, she does not.
Father leaves the room, she comes over after a minute, I sense her close, at the side of sofa. She reaches out her hand, brushes the hair back off my face. Her hands on me? Something I have never felt before – the loving touch of a woman, mother. I’ve been pawed, clawed, abused, smacked to death by the female gender, but never – touched by love from female hands.
She tenderly tucks the covers round me, runs her hand over my face, again, and goes back to her seat before my father returns.
I fall to sleep, for once in my life – comforted, secure.
I don’t have no rain check on scurried or elicit feet running upstairs at a later hour, the vigilance is calmed,
She is there in the morning, she is back the next day and night. I like her, she is loving. But as facts transpire – I know she has to go.
My want for a mother, an actual mother, is not big enough to want to see children deprived of their mother.
Truth rolls out. She is the mother of several children from a town down the road. She has left them, run away, due to domestic violence and is now living with her mother in the next street up.
Soon as I hear this, it can’t be, her own children need her.
If she has had to run, what are these children left with?
She MUST go home!
A selfish, childish, part of me wants to keep this woman around forever. This part is well over ridden, overcome, with knowing the pain of losing a ‘mother’ and knowing the anguish those children would be prey to both through the tears of experiencing the loss of a mother, and the abuse they are left unto via her abandonment. She has to go back.
She is a good woman, it is not much longer before she goes back home to her children.
I’m happy, her children need her.
I don’t know what came of her situation. I’d hope she got out, her children out, and her next step was not another run, leaving children again, but I just do not know what became of her, her children, their situation at all.
All I know is I’d wish them all well from the heart. Hope they are safe and happy.
I’m grateful too, because as much as I know her hands on me probably meant nothing about me, were compulsive. she came over because me laying there reminded of her own children, alone, without her, children she missed, but for one brief second in my life, I felt the hands of a mother.
Also, on knowing her circumstances, saw that she avoided using me on arrival, as a tool, where many others would, because the pain, when reminded of who she had left behind would be too much, when combined with the guilt of where she was stood with my Father and not her children.
I was convenient and most inconvenient, by proxy - evidence.
Given, I was unaware of her situation at that moment she touched me, but then came to know, any loving hands on me of hers were hands stolen for seconds, from children who much needed their mother. On knowing full situation, I felt guilt and empathy, Who was I to be having those loving hands on me, when these children would be wracked, anguished with loss of just those hands.
She touched my life. She would have touched it less if she had not gone back for her children.
Betty, lovely woman, no matter what she is doing in life now, I hope it is good.
I’ve learnt the life lesson well. We are nothing until comfortable outside of the womb. She was something for me in my dark hours of being discomfortable, feeling , never, had been within.
God bless her. So glad she went back x
Right, video, is one i wanted for this blog entry, but absolute credit for finding song, cos i could not, goes to twit bud @pennyessex. TY XX