Family 2 | scully's Blog

My mother:

She was born in Oran, Algeria. I don't know much about her childhood. I heard she was "the little duckling", the second child. It could be true because my Godmother, her sister, had 3 daughters, and my mother was very close and protective of the second, "the little duckling". Talk about patterns. From what my Godmother let escape, their childhood was strict. Their father "absent", because working a lot. She worked a lot too when we found the two of us alone in the mountains. She worked for the Air Police, in the bureau.

Others, cousins, family, my grand-mother, say of my mother she was joyous, kind, generous, sweet and tender. I have the memory of somebody distant, and mostly unhappy. I can't remember my mother was ever happy. She was beated by my legal father, we moved away, on our own, I think she was depressed for years, 5 years of divorce with that c*nt. I can't say she ever took care of me. Then she fell sick, colon cancer. She died in 1992, age 41, after a short period of remission. 

Little she played the violin, but gave up after 5 years. She sang very well, she had been diplomed from the conservatory, as a lyrical singer. She never had her A-level. Never went to the UNI, but she could have become a good singer. But my legal father kept her from going there to sing, or in a chorus. She listened to a lot of music. She loved nature and animals. We always had animals. It was the house of happiness, so to speak. We even took a cat off the street, a little kitten that was beaten up by a restaurant holder. 

She had a gift. I'm rational, but really she had. I can't explain it differently. She predicted things that happened, in the right order, and at the right time. She knew she would die, when my grand father would die, how, and where, then she predicted my uncle would be sick, but would recover, that only then the great grand mother would pass. She told me her younger sister who was a desparate single then, would get married soon after my 15th birthday. She read the cards too. She believed a lot in a all that, like most of the people in my family. I think I'm the one of all the girls all generations who doubt the more. I saw lots of stuff though. 

I realize I don't have much to say about her with my own POV. I never really had the time to know her. We never had a good relatiohship. But I know she said I was very stubborn and independent little. She said "when you have an idea in mind, you don't have it at the ass". I never missed anything material, or medical care. Just a mother. 

She tried all my childhood to talk to me about my real father, from an early age, until she told me when I was 10.

Recently I had a memory that came back. I was listening to "The Love Inside" by Barbra Streisand. That's a song my mother loved a lot, and I have an emotional link with it I might start understanding. I remember I was on the back seat in the car, behind my mother who was driving, and there was that song playing. We were going back to my "parents" appartment, we were in the underground parking. I think my mother was crying, and I asked her what was wrong. She said nothing. I didn't ask more. I was 5 then. I think she had seen a man, someone she knew. I don't remember what happened before, if I was there, or she had picked me up then, but I think I saw something, witnessed something. 

My stomach is hurting from that memory. I really feel there's something here. Before I remembered when my mother talked to me about my real father, I had the memory of what happened before, her ironing, and after when I left the room. And it was very emotional like with that memory. I think logically, and I need more, always, but I can't ignore such feelings, because they're rare, powerful, and often right.