My mother was a monster and I absolutely loathed her. Not once, in all the time I was still at home, did she ever express any affection towards me or touch me with love, although she was very "handy" and thought nothing of smacking me across the face or even, on occasion, beating me with a dog whip.
It left me with such severe scars that when I had my first child, it was presumed I'd given birth before "because of all the stretch marks you've got".
I left home at age 16 after she beat me up and down the street naked, on Christmas Day, because I'd stayed out after 10 pm the night before.
After several months of being bounced about by my stepfather I walked away and ended up here, in London. I have never been back except to visit and since the last of my direct relatives died last year, will (hopefully) never have to go back there again.
I'm told that when she died she did so with her face towards the door of the ward, waiting for me to walk through them.
Even if I'd known she was dying, it would not have made any difference. I would still not have gone to see her.
I've tried very, very hard to make sure that my own children know how much I love them. They were told so, and kissed and cuddled from birth.
My mother, by the way, always said I'd make a rotten mother because I was too selfish to have children...