My mother, aged 16 in 1941
I’m lucky, I guess, for in a lifetime that has spanned 63 years so far, I have had the fortune to have had three mother figures in my life.
My real mother was a drama queen. She was critical and anxious and depressed and ultimately bitter. She lacked warmth and found affection giving difficult and awkward, but she was my mother and I loved her in a dutiful way that was as exasperating as it was hard work.
My grandmother and my elder sister were the warm constants in my life. They brought laughter to a sad home life and gave me a taste and an attraction to warm people with big hearts.
They allowed me to balance my own psychi, and taught me empathy, and kindness and showed me that encouragement not criticism was the way forward .
If you are lucky you have a mom that nurtures and enables
My mother could not share that gift
But my surrogates could ……
Ps…on reflection I suspect my mother suffered from untreated PTSD before this photo was taken she was actually shot at in the streets of Liverpool when walking home from work ( the rear gunners would do that after bombing the docks ) she was also in the house when a bomb blew in the windows and when another unexploded bomb went under the kitchen floor