I haven’t seen my mother since I was maybe three years old.
I don’t know exactly when that last meeting was. What I remember is she had long brown hair and I must have been waiting for her, because I was at the window, watching her get out of a yellow car. We went to the zoo, and she bought me a red badge. I wanted to see the monkeys, but there wasn’t time, we had to go home, she said. I threw the badge on the floor. She cried. We went home. And I never saw her again.
For the longest time, I’d have told you that these childhood memories and experiences didn’t affect me. But, I don’t know, lately that memory makes me want to cry. I want to cry for the three year old who didn’t believe it when her foster parents said she was special, because how special can you be if your Mummy doesn’t want you? But I also shed a tear for that 19-year-old girl who had to admit that she couldn’t cope, and who made the impossible decision to leave her little girl behind.
So, for her, because she didn’t get all the others, this one’s for you: Happy Mother’s Day.
