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My mother in law died just before midnight on the tenth of July. Her funeral is this thursday coming. Despite the fact that her mind and personality, all the things that made her 'her', have been gone for a long while and little more than a human doll remained, it was still shocking to know that the world no longer contained her.
Many years ago, she dressed in her finest, most respectable gear and went off, entirely her own idea, to tell a judge that I was a good person and a fit mother for my child. She had no obligation to speak up for me, I don't think it occurred to anyone to ask her to. She decided it was the right the thing to do. So she did it.
It helped. And I choose to remember her as she was on that day, in her little fur jacket and tasteful gold earrings and perfect hair, serenely composed and staring down a High Court Judge. She had her faults, of course, and often drove everyone crazy, but she was also wonderful in her own, unique, way.
Many years ago, when my parents were pressuring me to have an abortion, my father told me about his childhood and his origins. He was illegitimate, he said, and never knew who his father was. He grew up bullied and insulted and abused at school and in the streets for being a little bastard. He thought I shouldn't do that to my child.
My father was not a nice person, but over the years I cut him some slack because of his early experiences. Not that he cared about my opinion, he disowned me decades ago, but I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, to be as fair as I could be. Recently I learned that he lied. He knew exactly who his father was. He knew him all his life and if he had wanted to he could have taken his name and grown up with no one knowing or caring about being born before his parents' marriage. Because his mother married his father and had about nine more kids. He told me my grandfather was not my grandfather and implied my grandmother was a whore - he did that about me too, later, so no surprise there. How do I know all this? Because despite my parents cutting ties with the enormous family we should have had (hardly surprising now, he didn't want them telling us the truth) one of my cousins, whom I haven't seen since we were little, tracked me down.
I have a cousin again. She sent me a text the other day beginning 'Hi Little Cuz' and I almost cried. I have missed her almost all my life. And she had all the facts. Including DNA evidence. Imagine it. I have a whole new branch in my family tree. Practically a second trunk.
It's been a very eventful summer, my youngest daughter was married early on, MIL died, long-lost relatives resurfaced, I've taken up a new painting technique and I'm having a grand old time with that; love it. Finally I've found something that having shaky hands can be an actual benefit for instead of a drawback.
Many years ago, she dressed in her finest, most respectable gear and went off, entirely her own idea, to tell a judge that I was a good person and a fit mother for my child. She had no obligation to speak up for me, I don't think it occurred to anyone to ask her to. She decided it was the right the thing to do. So she did it.
It helped. And I choose to remember her as she was on that day, in her little fur jacket and tasteful gold earrings and perfect hair, serenely composed and staring down a High Court Judge. She had her faults, of course, and often drove everyone crazy, but she was also wonderful in her own, unique, way.
Many years ago, when my parents were pressuring me to have an abortion, my father told me about his childhood and his origins. He was illegitimate, he said, and never knew who his father was. He grew up bullied and insulted and abused at school and in the streets for being a little bastard. He thought I shouldn't do that to my child.
My father was not a nice person, but over the years I cut him some slack because of his early experiences. Not that he cared about my opinion, he disowned me decades ago, but I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, to be as fair as I could be. Recently I learned that he lied. He knew exactly who his father was. He knew him all his life and if he had wanted to he could have taken his name and grown up with no one knowing or caring about being born before his parents' marriage. Because his mother married his father and had about nine more kids. He told me my grandfather was not my grandfather and implied my grandmother was a whore - he did that about me too, later, so no surprise there. How do I know all this? Because despite my parents cutting ties with the enormous family we should have had (hardly surprising now, he didn't want them telling us the truth) one of my cousins, whom I haven't seen since we were little, tracked me down.
I have a cousin again. She sent me a text the other day beginning 'Hi Little Cuz' and I almost cried. I have missed her almost all my life. And she had all the facts. Including DNA evidence. Imagine it. I have a whole new branch in my family tree. Practically a second trunk.
It's been a very eventful summer, my youngest daughter was married early on, MIL died, long-lost relatives resurfaced, I've taken up a new painting technique and I'm having a grand old time with that; love it. Finally I've found something that having shaky hands can be an actual benefit for instead of a drawback.