My mother was young and beautiful once. She was a neglected and betrayed child too but she smiled it all away.
She left England, her land of birth, and went on an adventure to find a good life. She met my father is Johannesburg, South Africa. He was a mean mean man. He treated her like garbage.But then is he entitled to forgiveness? He had sex with his mother and slept in her bed with her while his father slept on the couch. Does that fuck up a person brain. Yes of course. But his legacy of mean-spiritness and a nasty mouth takes away any sympathy I have. My father was a Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde kinda guy. You never new what you were going to get, a whack across the head or a kiss on the cheek. He was a control freak. He liked having a whipping boy as I would call it. When my mother was no longer available I took the lion share of the abuse. One of the other reasons why I left home at 13 and going out into the big bad world.
My mother was so stressed when I was a child from my father all her hair fell out. I guess I take after her. The reason I crop a lot of my pictures is because so has mine been falling out in clumps for no known medical reason.
This poor woman, my mother, was a mother at heart. When she was growing up she wanted so much to be a mother. She had what it took to be a good mother but when she gave birth to her first born, Tony (Anthony), she was beside herself with confusion and sadness. Her son didn’t want to bond, couldn’t I would suppose now knowing what I know. From then on her only focus was her broken heart and her son. She jumped through hoops trying to please and get him to love her. She gave him a large piece of property to build a house on with the agreement he pay her back in 10 years. She was thinking of her elder years and wanted to make sure she had enough money, smart thinking. At the end of 10 years my brother didn’t think he should have to pay it back. He thought he was entitled to it. Didn’t matter to him that I didn’t ever get anything. He told me once while in the middle of his fight with my mother. “I better get this money back when she dies, you don’t deserve anything”.
So when my mother divorced my father and years later met Dr. Bob she was in heaven. He treated her like an angel. He was gentle and kind to her and that never ever changed. She loved to tell people, “he has never ever said an unkind word to me in 34 years”. So you can see how it was possible for my mother to just move on and into this new life. She rarely saw Tony because Tony didn’t want to see her. She rarely saw me because it reminded her of what she could have been, should have been but wasn’t.
Over the years when I was gone she leaned on the HOUSTON CLAN, the 4 children of Dr. Bob’s and then their spouses. In her simple mind she thought they would understand and love her. She never ever calculated what they were capable of doing with what she had said. She couldn’t live with having left me to fend for myself. She couldn’t live with the knowledge that Tony had molested me. She couldn’t live with the fact that my father molested me. She couldn’t live with the fact that my father used to take me to the private men’s lounge at the Zanzibar Strip Club and barter me off. She could’t live with the fact that she had left me out in the world to fend for myself. So to make herself look good she told stories and she closed her eyes to the truth until she couldn’t anymore.
When the HOUSTON CLAN used what she had said against me she started to slowly unravel. She tried denying it to herself, she tried closing her eyes again but the legal documents kept coming and coming. The vileness of these documents and what they said about me took her on a fast track to death This dignified, fragile, childlike woman shriveled in pain and regret.
The part about this that the HOUSTON CLAN don’t see she was first and foremost loyal to them NOT me. Sad for me and stupid of them.
When I turned up we were in heaven together. We had both come to realize we needed each other. But her loyalty to them was still there until she couldn’t anymore. The topic of her estate never ever came up until one day she asked me if I would be her P/A. Neither one of us saw any issue in that. I was her daughter.
You see we see in others a reflection of ourselves. The HOUSTON CLAN thought we were plotting and planning some kind of take over I think. We were not. But now I realize we should have been. And they were certainly plotting and planning.
