“Pick Up the Pieces in Your Own Backyard”
“Youre a right fool, Emily, honestly! That husband of yours, Edward, will leave you with nothingjust you wait! Hasnt he put you through enough?” Mum never minced words when it came to her son-in-law.
“Mum, Edward and I have been married for 37 years, and youve spent every one of them warning me about him! Please, just stay out of it!” I snapped into the phonenot the first time, and likely not the last.
I kept my distance from Mum because I knew her only topic would be what a scoundrel my husband was. Id long since stopped trying to argue, though there was a grain of truth in her words.
Years ago, when we were young and foolish, I left Edwardonce. Wed had a nasty row, and I ended up in hospital with a concussion. Our son, Oliver, was just five at the time. I thought it was overdivorce, single motherhood, the lot. After being discharged, I went straight to Mums, where Oliver had been staying while I was laid up.
Mum heaved a sigh and said, “Tell me I was wrong. That mans a brute! Stay here. Your dad and I will help you raise Oliver.”
“Ill think about it,” I murmured, though I wasnt sure what to do.
“Dont thinkjust stay! That monster might hurt Oliver next!” She looked ready to bar the door against Edward forever.
Mum had hated Edward from the start. Shed even hidden my dowry, sneering, “Let your precious husband clothe and feed you if hes so wonderful.”
A week later, Edward turned up with his tail between his legs. Mum slammed the door in his face, hurling insults. I only found out latershed said nothing while I was out walking with Oliver.
After a month of stewing, I decided to go back. Husbands and wives quarrel, but they share the same bed in the end. Besides, I loved Edwardalways had. He was my only man.
I hatched a plan: Id fetch our winter clothes. A solid excuse, with the cold setting in. So, behind Mums back, I took Oliver home.
Edward was over the moon. The family was whole again. Mum, of course, was livid.
Truth be told, Mum and I had never clashed before. She was kind, caringa wonderful woman. But there was a skeleton in her closet, gathering dust.
At fourteen, I stumbled upon her diary while rummaging for a globe in the attic. A pretty notebook caught my eye. I sat down, flipped it openand wished I hadnt.
Turns out, after I was born, Mum handed me straight to a childrens home. With family aplenty! My so-called father had refused to claim me, saying, “How do I know you didnt get knocked up by someone else?” The man who raised me wasnt my blood. Mum had scribbled in that diary about “hard times,” vowing to fetch me soon.
Back then, shed lived in a village where gossip was king. A child born out of wedlock? Scandalous. It took my aunt shaming the whole lot of them before I was brought homea year later.
That evening, I confronted Mum with the diary. She didnt even glance at it before tearing it to shreds. But the damage was done.
From then on, a wall rose between ustall, thick, unyielding. I saw her as a traitor. Resentment festered like tar. The bond between mother and daughter frayed beyond repair.
I swore then that my children would be raised by their own father and motherno step-parents, no substitutes.
Edward, sensing Mums hatred, suggested a second child. “She wont dare drag you away with two,” he said. I didnt argue.
Paul was born. Mum still raged: “Oh, Emily, that tyrants got you tied down with another baby! And youre daft enough to trust him! That dogs cheating left and rightmark my words, youll regret it!”
She wasnt wrong. Edward had a wandering eye. Plenty of tears were shed. But how could I blame him? Handsome, charmingwomen flocked to him like moths to a flame.
The day I landed in hospital, wed fought over one such woman. Shed waltzed into our house, certain I was at work. But Id left early with a headache.
There they werehalf-dressed, champagne in hand. The hussy bolted, shoving me aside. I fell, hit my head, and woke up concussed. Edward behavedbriefly.
Over the years, there were coworkers, old flames, strangers. You cant cage the wind. Still, I thanked God hed never fathered another child. That wouldve been a mess.
Years later, my Oliver repeated historya mistress, a love child. His lawful wife and daughter were left picking up the pieces. Kids never benefit from their parents mistakes.
What does Mum want? Once your childs married, step back. Visit, help with the grandkids, but keep your advice to yourself unless asked. Let adults live their own livesbruises and all.
As my gran used to say, “Tend to your own garden.”
The generational clash never ends. People keep making the same mistakes, deaf to reason.
Mum and I havent spoken in three years. Silent, simmering. She tells anyone wholl listen that her son-in-law isnt fit to lick my boots.
But Mummaybe I deserve exactly the man Ive got.
I wouldnt have any other.
