Wednesday, 20th January 2016
Dearest Friend,
At one point in Dublin, while we were staying at The Hilton hotel, Mum spoke to me about an upcoming concert at the 3 Arena with Kodaline that she would really love to go to sometime. Almost by instinct, I wanted to see my mother smile so I told her I would look into buying us tickets to go as an outing event.
“Oh would you, Jason? Ah, I would love that!”
Feeling very encouraged from seeing the delight in her eyes, that evening I did just that; I bought 2 concert tickets online via Ticketmaster and got us decent seats at The 3 Arena, too.
I guess given the situation at that time, feeling very tense with having gone to court as a family, I wanted to have a positive focus to motivate myself towards, and for a time it was good to have a goal.
What I overestimated was probably that my mother would equally see this outing as a priority – but I was later to find that Mum’s integrity towards giving us quality time was sloppy…
One weekend, recently enough, the concert took place after 6p.m. I was on the train from Galway to Dublin, which is about a near 3 hour journey, and so I naturally called Mum to make sure she got her train from Sligo and was on her way that afternoon… Well, for about an hour there was no reply – and then I grew panicky; all the disappointment and regret I had for Mum returned, and when that feeling was realized I knew Mum wasn’t going to show.
Finally, having near reached Heuston Station, Mum picked up the phone – sounding very groggy and disorientated.
“But, Mum, you knew the times for what we arranged! Why would you go drinking the night before and hardly get any sleep if you knew we had plans you wouldn’t be able to commit to?”
“Ah, I’m sorry, Jay. I didn’t expect to be up late; I lost track of time. I also had a splitting headache and couldn’t sleep.”
“Yeah, Mum, that would be from the excess alcohol and whatever else you were doing…!”
“Alright, Jay, calm down… Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to make it to Dublin. Just give me time.”
“Mum, the concert starts in a few hours. How could you possibly make it in this short length of time?”
“Look, Jay, I’ll get there when I get there… That’s all I can do.”
Then I just got irritated from literally getting no logical sense from Mum, and just ended the call pretty quickly.
Very annoyed, I rang Nanny G and vented my disbelief to her.
“Seriously, Jason, when are you ever going to learn? Your mother always lets you down and yet you always run back to her… It’s time to accept she’s never going to change!” I kind of wish, for once, that Nan would somehow sugar-coat the facts a little; to add a little more sensitivity to her advice even, because in that given time more negativity wasn’t helping my isolated situation in Dublin.
“I know, Nan, but I thought after everything that happened in November we were really bonding and changing for the better towards each other. I really thought this was a way to spend time together!”
“Ah, your problem is you always see the good in people, even when they don’t deserve the level of respect you give them. Your mother will always do what benefits her first. She doesn’t care, Jason!”
There wasn’t much to do then. I thought it wasn’t good to waste an opportunity to see Kodaline live, so I went on ahead to the concert anyhow.
At the point when I was waiting in line outside The 3 Arena, Mum rang again and informed me that she was on the 6 O’clock train to Dublin. I was too tired at that stage to argue, so I just said “okay…” She was still very much set on going!
And so I went on ahead in and enjoyed most of the live entertainment and even recorded some parts on camera. I was also texting James and he grew worried for me in Dublin. I underestimated his level of care and didn’t expect for him to turn up outside The 3 Arena to see me, for which I ignored – knowing my mother was well on her way, and the pressure James now put me under was hindering rather than helping the situation…
I think it was about half an hour before the concert ended that Mum showed up. I had to go outside and show the security our tickets so that Mum could get in. We got drinks and headed back to our seats.
I knew right away from reading her demeanour that Mum’s attitude was very “well-entitled”. She didn’t even show an apology but asked how much she missed and if her favourite songs had played yet. I didn’t gather until we were back outside on the streets that Mum was in an unusually euphoric mood – a little too high for “naturally-acted-out” behaviour; I was under the impression that Mum was under some chemical lifter (drugs), but it was hard to distinguish what so I didn’t argue with her.
I don’t want to get into too much detail about our entire night; it’s too frustrating for me to comprehend; at least from an emotional stance.
As soon as the concert ended, we headed into the main town centre to explore pubs and bars (Mum’s idea!), and I found the whole experience humiliating…
Mum always had to be the centre of attention; she spoke very loudly over drinks, danced randomly to music, was always running off to the bathroom and making me stay and watch her drinks, and from my impression was flirty with men.
I remember Mum was talking to this young enough fellow out in the smoking area, and it was obvious he found my mother attractive; there was lots of eye-contact and sweet talk – they were getting to know each other as strangers.
I got bored stiff waiting inside for her, so I went on out to join them.
Right on spot Mum told me to head back in… She told me to go away and get myself another drink. The horrible thing was that she spoke to me as if I were a child being lectured for wrong-doing, and that really got me in a huff.
Before long I was losing patience, so once I finished a mineral or two I returned to the smoking area. I politely engaged in their conversation with a kind hello and learnt more about Mum’s acquaintance.
From what I heard, he’s a bachelor from Dublin – but whenever Mum learned that he worked as a police officer the enthusiasm toned down from her side a little…
We went to two other bars after that before Mum showed me the old fashioned hostel we were to stay in (for which I paid and booked from her request online). One thing I noticed throughout my night with Mum was that she didn’t know how to really engage with me; it was obvious the distance between us was awkward for her. I could just notice how Mum wandered off in thought or seemed to find some underpinning meaning behind any spontaneous question I had that Mum had her barriers up at heart; no matter how carefree her outward presence seemed.
I know it’s quite the rude assumption, but a part of me believes Mum’s wild antics are a way of showing off; giving the superficial impression that she lives a carefree existence apart from Sligo, and I think much of this stems from the fact that there is a lot of talk in recent months surrounding our family and the court case. Maybe I’m wrong, in terms of Mum’s sake for appearances, but my relatives and both grandmothers tell me that there is mixed gossip stirring…
I know I should set my own self apart from all the hear-say, and I envy my mother for her “amazing presence”, but I won’t and can’t deny the affects it’s having on both me and many others!
At one point in the night I had enough from the partying and Mum’s involuntary busking in the streets of Dublin with two homeless foreign men, for which country I can’t recall, as she sang and played away on their acoustic guitars. I told Mum it was late and time for us to leave so that we could seek out this hostel, but her answer was always: “Give me a minute, Jay!”
“Mum, I’m tired. I have an early start before I head back to Galway… Enough is enough.”
“Jesus, Jay, will ya stop worrying… Isn’t this fun?”
“Yeah, just fantastic!” I sarcastically said.
For a second Mum gave me a stern look before getting up off her ass and walking away from the buskers with me. They just stood back and humoured Mum as she took and sang with the guitar, and it was embarrassing as a son to have to guide her throughout the night and make apologies to people she ran into or offended.
Eventually, Mum had called the worker, who we had made contact with about our stay and who works there with his wife, had agreed with Mum to collect us along The Spire in O’Connell St. Unaware of this, until I literally had to beg Mum to get going, the poor man spent a long time trying to find us…
I was so shocked at Mum’s carelessness that it left me speechless. I decided the less said the better… Once in the man’s car I was hoping for the end of our night to unwind and rest in our beds, but I quickly realized Mum was in no position of dropping from her heights!
As you may know, in most modern vehicles there is installed in them a “satnav” for GPS – in order words a device attached near the radio system that can show current location, satellites and can visually plus verbally give direction to a particular said landmark or address. Our driver was very polite and charming even, asking how our night went in Dublin and if we enjoyed our visit there. Whenever I tried to get a word in Mum (unknowing to herself) overran my speech with all of her own exhausting chatter, that I just let out a loud sigh or rolled my eyes; hoping Mum would have an ounce of respect to notice my irritation. She didn’t. As it seemed to her, it was a two-way conversation – not three – and she never exchanged eye contact or turned to me seated in the back. Our sweet driver, however, was conscious of my presence and would frequently give me the wide stare from his hanging mirror. I was amazed of his patience, especially as a stranger, but I could see my mother’s annoying habits with conversation made him uncomfortable. Whenever the satnav was in use, a steady female voice with a strong British accent could be heard over the sound system and Mum quickly mimicked or teased him flirtatiously about it as the audio gave informed directions.
He would try and respond with a smile or give the impression that he was heeding Mum’s wild interactions, but actually I could see in his eyes that he was far away someplace else in his thoughts… About twenty-five minutes later we found ourselves outside a suburban styled street of Dublin, at a bricked apartment building type, with the front door large in height and posh-like.
I’ll never forget when, as we were proceeding to go up the entrance steps and go in, after the man found his keys, I was walking slightly behind Mum but more to my right so I could see the man open the door in front of her. As he went in walking, Mum was talking about something or other – but she quickly squeezed his behind, a little playfully I imagine without any real advances, but the man turned and looked at us quickly; shocked at her behaviour I imagine – and Mum wasn’t really paying any real attention towards anything going on in her surroundings, as tipsy and high as she was, so I quickly nodded my head and mouthed but without verbally saying that he should pay no mind to her. He took a deep breath and stifled back a sigh before bringing us in; giving us our door key and showing us our room. I suppose I should also mention that the man wasn’t Irish, but I think Italian. He had told us that his wife and him were quite poor and needed the money to invest medical treatment for his terminally ill mother back home, so working together at the hostel and her as a cleaning lady in people’s houses was their way of making a living in Ireland. I shouldn’t really say a living, because that appears insensitive, but actually scraping by… I was deeply moved and affected about the story of his dear mother and his long journey of overcoming addiction after completing his mission in war at Iraq, and to turn out as lovely and charitable as he is, it’s quite inspiring actually!
Stepping into our given room, both having two single beds, a side spacious bathroom with toilet and sink, and wardrobe under the long red curtains by the floor to ceiling windows, Mum quickly turned to the small television box to see if the boxing match with Conor McGregor was on yet. For now Mum couldn’t find the correct station so readied herself for bed – or so I thought…
I was so exhausted after the overall day, that I literally just wanted to turn over and get myself a few hours’ sleep. Well, this was shown to be impossible!
It wasn’t over Mum’s explosive conversations over the phone; people apparently expecting money off of her and Mum making promises about going to see them soon, Mum moving about, etc. etc. In one conversation, a tipsy lady was talking to Mum about missing their mad nights out together and Mum made the excuse that she was spending quality time with her “distant” son. Then the lady urgently wanted to speak with me for a moment, so Mum tapped my shoulder and I turned over to retrieve the phone, very annoyed.
“Yes?” I asked, quite impatient, but not rude either.
“Now listen here, you. Look after our Lisa tonight; she’s a great girl, your mother. So you be good and do as your told… Do ya hear me?”
“Right…!” I said, holding back my emotions so as to not lose my cool.
I knew the woman who spoke to me was heavily drunk, intoxicated and I don’t know what else – it could all be easily read from her high pitched tone and the slurred speech, but it pained me that Mum held people like this in a seeming higher regard than her own family. I’ve come to this assumption simply because she clearly gives them more time… This is where Mum’s priorities lie; living purely for the night and forgetting all else!
Mum then comes back to the bed, sort of laughs and is full of curiosity.
“Haha, so what did she say?” For a second I look Mum in the eye and I’m tempted to give a cheeky response, but I decide against it.
“Ah, nothing much. Just hopes you had a good night and that we’re in good spirits…”
“And we are, aren’t we?” Mum empathises. Forcing a smile I say sure, trying to keep serious.
Mum looks across at me, laying in her own bed, tilting her head to the side.
“What’s wrong, Jay?” Things feel very cosy now; I was comfortable to be wrapped up under the bed covers and just having our dim night light at our side, and I’m tempted to just doze off. And then I’m amazed Mum would actually make some real conversation with me as I’m near dead to the world. I’m too tired at this point to go on the offensive with Mum, so I avoid arguing.
“Ah, I’m alright. It’s been a crazy night, but I’m just going to sleep now. Nothing wrong…” “Okay,” Mum says simply, leaving it there…for now anyway!
So there I am; about to pass out, and after a few minutes I can hear Mum moving around. I turn in the bed towards the position Mum’s bed is situated and just see her in time heading into the bathroom again. She ends up in there a good 20-30 minutes, and I become apprehensive. Mum is shouting over the phone about seeing someone when she’ll decide to see them, about meaning to return money I imagine. By the time Mum returns to the bedroom her manner is overly high-spirited again. Her face is dripping with sweat and eyes wide; she complains that the room heating isn’t standard and quickly calls our driver from earlier at reception and asks if he wouldn’t mind checking the heaters temperature in the room. Bear in mind this is well over 4a.m., so I urged Mum to just leave it and suggested getting under the bed covers may warm her up. It was clear Mum wasn’t hearing me, as she had the man come up anyhow. When he first entered our room his face appeared puzzled, but Mum ran to the heaters to “prove” it wasn’t warm enough. He turned the meters a few times and apologized for not making sure previously, and I equally apologized for us disturbing him at this insane hour. He managed a smile and reassured us that it was fine, as he only sleeps a few hours, Still, I think the demand was impolite!
“Mum, do you think that was really necessary?” I asked when he left.
“What?! I was freezing…” Again, I only sighed before turning away in the bed.
Later it came a point where Mum’s mobile had died from its battery level and she kept nagging me to use the IPad I had brought with me, to send messages on Facebook. At first that was no problem with me, as I was going asleep.
But then she kept calling out my name to do favours for her on the IPad; repeatedly type in the password, change accounts on Facebook, write quick messages for her, and so forth. I respected the request from the first three times but then I just lost patience, and I couldn’t hide it anymore.
“Seriously, Mum? When are you going to stop this and go asleep? It’s nearly five in the morning, and I’m wrecked…!”
“Will you relax… I’m sending my sister a message in America, is that alright with you? Are you going to type in the password or not…?”
Of course I don’t mind, but we sleep on this side of the planet, too. Besides, I’m sure Sam would understand if you got back to her in a few hours after some rest.”
“But, Jay, you don’t understand. She’s going through a crisis!”
“What about us, Mum? What about your family HERE in Ireland… You’ve gotta sort out your own issues here first, before being able to help others!”
I took a deep breath, swallowed back a stiff weight in my throat and proceeded to enter the password on my IPad, but Mum was too queued in now to distract herself. “Eh, what do you mean by that, Jay? This is my sister we’re talking about here…” I let out a deep sigh before finding my voice.
“All I’m saying is…you can’t help everybody, Mum, and solve everyone’s problems – especially when you’ve issues of your own that you can’t handle.”
“What can’t I handle? I don’t like the way you’re talking about MY family.”
“Well, you couldn’t get to Dublin on time to meet me, we hardly talked about anything meaningful all night, and you embarrassed me…spoke of me with people as if I were a stranger to you. That really hurt me.”
Mum paused for a moment, to take these “judgements” in I imagine, before repeating that she didn’t like the “tone” I was using and reminded me that this was “her” family I was talking about.
“If you haven’t noticed, it’s my family too… Mum, why are you making a big deal about this? I’m tired.”
“Your family? Oh, yes!” She mocked. “Also the family you couldn’t even respect and do something when asked.
I was horrified. Where was she going with this? “What do you mean?”
“Mammy told me about the camera…that when she asked you to get one you made a trip and dance about the whole thing…that you and your friend Lucy go to visit her and you don’t even offer her tea.”
“What? No. I explained to Granny that I couldn’t afford her one within my student budget, but that I could help her in the steps to buying her own. This issue has been resolved with Gran; she told me herself that she was sorry for going on the offensive. I also apologised for not thinking to make us tea during that heated incident. From what I gathered, we both met an understanding… Why are you saying this, Mum?”
“Because that’s my mother you disrespected!” “And MY grandmother!” I reminded.
“Do you know what also pisses me off? Mum went on. I was sitting opposite Mum now, at the edge of our beds, as I searched for unexplained meaning in her bulging wide eyes.
“That you would actually go ahead and tell M.I. something my mother told you in confidence.” I knew right away what Mum was on about, but she just doesn’t understand the whole story…
“Why would you do that, to my mother?!” I began to get very upset; tears were beginning to show, and I felt defeated already.
But I couldn’t do any more than be honest. “I don’t know, Mum. I wasn’t in a great place mentally; it just slipped out. I really can’t understand why Gran could have any place in her heart for Him, and would go on to say she’d pray for him. But I know now the person I really should have confronted about this issue was Gran herself. I know it’s no excuse, but the emotion in me was too overwhelming and I just exploded. M.I. happened to be that person I thought I could confide those feelings to.”
“Yeah, well, I had a massive row with M.I. and she wasn’t so sure if I could be trusted with my kids. That woman is taking my girls from me, and soon enough I won’t be able to see them at all. And all because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut!”
“I’m sure she was just speaking out of a temper. I disagree… I’ve a lot of respect for M.I. for all that she has done for Maria and Cindy; this can’t all have been easy for her either, Mum. Anyway, I can’t change what I’ve done. I’m sorry if this has all hurt you or affected you in any way.”
In the end, our “argument” escalated much further, and let it be said I can’t use the outburst that were said word for word – that would be too violent, psychologically, to reflect. But what I will admit is that Mum pushed blame on me for a lot of the past; what with her losing the parental rights to her daughters, and that she expressed doubt for a lot I confessed to the social workers – much of which she was never around to judge or prevent…
It was heart-breaking to watch her do it and say those venomous things, but what hurt more is the acknowledgement that Mum’s brain was well screwed on if she was able to be a judge of character, and that it was not simply the ramblings of a highly wired and tipsy phase; I will never accept such actions as an excuse for her excessive behaviour and verbal abuse…!
There is one thing I’m sure Mum couldn’t possibly understand and that is the affect her absence has been on my childhood…
She expressed doubt in me about something I apparently had told my social worker in the past; that, as a kid, I was hit by a hammer in the head and went screaming to the adults and they laughed at me about the blood dripping from my forehead. I remember that incident as clear as yesterday.
I was left babysitted by relatives of Tony’s in his mother’s house. The house was crowded with people and filled with bustle and noise.
I was upstairs in the main bedroom, just wandering around I guess and finding something to do. One of the other kids entered the room, a boy near my age, and he used to bully me a lot. He was fiddling around with things in the room and I was just standing back observing; I was quite afraid of him and usually avoided being near him. But anyway, he at one point picked up the hammer and went to strike me with it; having a huge grin on his face. I backed off scared but I tripped over some tall boats and landed on the ground, the hammer falling on the tip of my head. As far as I can recall, the hit was sudden so the pain was only slightly felt but when I seen the pouring down over my eyes and getting on my hands from trying to protect myself, that’s when I became frightened and rushed downstairs screaming, like “a screeching girl” apparently. I ran into the adults in the living room and I guess because the dramatic scene was so unexpected for them they couldn’t hold back the laughter. I remember a woman, the mother of the son who hit me, came rushing towards me and threw a tea towel over my face, sort of giggling nervously. On retrospect I imagine their reactions were due to the shock and my expressed panic. That’s all I can remember about that incident, and Mum forgets it – which is no surprise at all because she was never around when abusive things happened to me; at least most of the time anyway… Sometimes when Tony punished us or hit me in an outburst, Mum was no better through ignoring my cries! I keep remembering how dreadful those long days were, from being landed on Tony’s family doorstep and inside crying from desperation as Mum took me down from her arms and leaving me there. I felt so isolated and alone – it wasn’t any environment for a child to be in…
Mostly the adults sat around selling or smoking weed and watching the boring races on TV, and I learnt very quickly to be seen and not heard to avoid getting slapped for being in the way or an annoyance to them.
It was so awful… I think that’s why I was always on my best behaviour during my childhood visits to Nanny G, because I politely would remain seated on the couch watching my cartoons; hoping for something that was already present – keeping the love from my grandmother and not being a disappointment to anybody, if above anything else…
I know it sounds pretty bizarre to imagine, especially the playful incident with the hammer, but it certainly did happen. I guess where the hammer is concerned, the hit to my head must have been only slight and I bled – as any rougher hit to the head I’m sure would have left me unconscious or brain damaged. And I really do think that L.I. didn’t really understand what he was doing; I really believe he must have been role playing from something he seen himself or watched on television. And we were small children – no adult was around minding us and keeping us away from the dangers. I really shouldn’t question the whole situation, but Mum’s insistence on denying the facts have really hurt me in ways incomprehensible; it’s definitely caused a mistrust in me towards her… I don’t care if she was drunk or stoned – it’s not good enough. She will never get the better of me again – never again will I lower myself to her level… How can she be in any position to judge anyone?
God, she really went too far this time!!
I won’t say what exactly, but something Mum said made my heart leap.
I quickly got up out of bed and went to put all my things back in my backpack; shower essentials and underwear for the morning…
Mum observed the whole thing and thought it was a joke.
“Ah, here. What are ya at, Jay? Get back into bed, you eejit!” It amazed me that Mum could suddenly change from her harsh tone and make “light” of the situation.
The whole time I was half out of breath and refused to look Mum in the eye; I was so ashamed of the things she said to me!
“I’m not gonna sit her and listen to your crap a minute longer… I’m leaving!”
“Leaving? Where ya gonna go? Nowhere to run this time of night.”
“Anywhere is better than here with you.” When I said those words, it was like a stab to my own heart; I nearly tripped over in tears saying it, but I knew returning the same harshness Mum treated me with was the only way to get anything to sink in… Mum didn’t say anything from then on, but looked straight at the boxing on TV. I think she got the message!
I threw Mum the keys to our room and reminded her that I paid for the full stay. She didn’t move a muscle; not even to look at me when I spoke exiting the door… Leaving the inn, I felt like such an idiot for going ahead to Dublin and making this happen with Mum; she was terribly ungrateful.
It was raining heavily outside and as I was about to run down the street to reach shelter, I looked back once more to take in the horror of what just happened. I caught Mum peak out from the upper window as I glanced that direction. But still, I didn’t go back. To sleep in the same room and bear what she said (acknowledging that there would be no rest, on the contrary!) would be too much…
I knew if I rang Nanny G that I’d be criticized for going ahead with it and given an “I told you so…” lecture for trusting in Mum in the first place, so I called Philo instead, my landlady in my Galway residence, as there was nobody else.
I know what you’re thinking: “Why not call James?”
As wonderful a support I’m sure he’d have been, I feel with his sensitive nature this may have upset him deeply, so I believe a more “logical” informative perspective is what I needed, and that’s certainly what Philo gave me…
After expressing my shock over what just occurred, Philo calmly told me: “Listen to me, Jason. When you get to the nearest traffic light, track down a taxi and go straight to the train station… Get on the next journey to Galway and we’ll talk then. Okay, pet?” I could hardly speak from chocking back the tears, but I told Philomena I will, and that’s exactly what I done.
When I was near reached Galway, Mum surprisingly rang me.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Where are ya, Jay? I’m out looking for ya…”
“Don’t bother. I’m nearly in Galway now. And Lisa, don’t ring this number again. I want nothing to do with ya!”
“Whatcha mean?” She snapped. “Just that.” I hung up…
If it’s possible you’ve come across uncontrollable wailing, well I’ve done it those hours retreating “home”. But once I left the train, I told myself I wouldn’t weep another tear about it.
It would take a week or so before I fully digested what happened in Dublin; taking out the emotions caused in both Mum and me, and still I have no regrets for leaving her there that night… In a younger Jay, my worry would have been too great to avoid; I would have stayed for the simple reason that Mum may have harmed herself. But in recent times I’ve learnt that she’s too smart for that; if she was capable of recalling all my faults as a youngster with blame then she couldn’t have been that detached from “reality”…
When I say that I mean if she was able to argue such things, quite persuasively and leave no limits on how painful the receiver could withhold things, Mum couldn’t have been that separate from her logic; meaning it couldn’t only be a fault of alcohol and her recreational drug use!
Make no doubts; I will always love Mum deeply in my heart, but only because she’s my mother – as a human being I don’t think I would have looked back on a person the same way. I think it will take a long time before I bring myself to face her again!
Yours, Jay.