Mothers Day in the UK and my late Mothers Birthday arriving on consecutive days presented an interesting challenge. It once again brought memories and feelings to the surface that I could not ignore. I was forced to confront some decisions I made in relation to my Parents that I know caused some anguish.
I am still struggling with guilt at walking away, and refusing to return to the UK when my Mother fell ill some time ago. There is also the feeling of remorse at effectively carving my children out of the lives of my Parents, robbing them of time with their Grandchildren.
Then I remember the lies, the violence, and the persistent bullying. Somehow, the voice of my Father still wins. It is still his critical, condemning, dismissive tones I hear. The last time I spoke to him just a couple of weeks ago, he delivered his usual cutting, and deeply offensive analysis on all of my siblings, and fair chunk of the extended family. Everything I know about the environment I grew up in tells me I need to move on. But such is his power, without his validation, I am in limbo.
Robert Philip Aston is a fragile old man. There is a growing part of me that would dearly love to make a real lasting peace with him, liberating both of us. I know this cannot happen. Its an ethical dilemma, to make peace would involve exposing some deeply unsettling truths, and open some wounds that I am sure my Father would be unable, or unwilling to heal. Making peace may be best for me, but it would be incredibly hard on him, and once again he wins.
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