Indelible Adventures: Time heals all or does it?

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You often time heals all...or so you think, until one day it creeps up on you and hits you right between the eyes.
My mum passed away in 1987 and although deeply upset at the time and for quite a few years afterwards I also felt like it was a blessing in some ways as her life had fallen into a never ending series of hospitals and nursing homes. This once vivacious and vibrant woman (note headstrong, stubborn and opinionated...as all mothers tend to be) now had very little quality of life given the series of strokes that had left her incapacitated both physically and linguistically. To be honest I think one day she just decided that she'd had enough and decided she didn't want to do it anymore...no more pain, no more struggling, no more anything. The mountain was just too steep and she was too tired to go on...

I often talk about my dad but rarely about my mum, and it wasn't until this past weekend when I remembered that it was Mothers Day that a lot of memories began to resurface. As I read the public outpouring of love and affection that people have for their mothers I felt the deep feelings of loss and sadness come flooding back.

There was definitely a part of me that wished she was here with us, and able to meet and spend time with Zach and Sami, but also a big part of me wished that she was here for me too, so that I could get to know her as an adult. Hoping above hope that she might be proud of me in some small way for the person I've become and the life I've created for myself.

Although, if you knew my mum from childhood and teenage years, you'd also know that would be a rather unlikely scenario. She had a low boiling point that needed little to set her off, with a wicked temper and a sharper tongue you needed to watch not only what you said, but what you did. I inevitably became a "pleaser" and did what I was told, while at the same time I continued my retreat into self imposed exile, trying to keep under her and everyone else's radar. Deep down I realized that this approach worked for everyone concerned given that my mum and dad really didn't know what to do with me as I had disengaged from the family in lots of ways through out these years.

Whenever I got the chance I was away from home, mostly playing sport - it was my salvation and one of the only ways of keeping my sanity. They also sensed that I was looking for a way out and I think they felt threatened, especially when I wanted to stay at school. This is the part they found most difficult and pushed hard to get me to "stop wasting my time and get a job", but the more they pushed, cajoled, and harassed me the more I was determined to stay at school and find a way out.

Each night after dinner I'd sit at our small kitchen table, which was approximately the size of a card table to try and study. Literally feet from a blaring television and a house full of blue smoke it was not the most ideal situation but that's all I had to work with and so that became my nightly haunt. I wasn't much for television, and knew that if I was going to get a passing grade I'd have to commit myself to study every night. Yep, even the nights that I had football practice till late, often dragging my wet and muddy ass home in the dark to eat a lukewarm dinner before cracking open the books and endeavoring to put in an hour or two on the mountain of homework I often had in front of me.

I think the hardest thing for me to accept were the often snide remarks from my mum when I was trying to study. When mum was sober she pretty much left me a lone, but if she'd been drinking then I sort became a focal point of her annoyance and frustration. "Why are you wasting your time with those bloody books?" "You think you're better than the rest of us don't you? Well, you're in for a rude shock!" "Christ almighty (followed by an exasperated sigh!)...

In those days my dad wasn't a whole lot better, as he considered anyone who wanted to go to University a "bloody waste of space", although his favorite saying was "nothin but a bunch of long haired hippies that wouldn't know a hard days work if it hit em in the face".

Yeah - fun times!

Somedays I would just shake my head at some of the stuff that would be bandied about, and the sheer ignorance associated with the comments. I also knew that I had to bite my tongue, cos' I knew that if I reacted then they got what they wanted but the more I ignored the situation and the comments the more it irked them, and so my mantra became to just keep my head down and my mouth shut. I remember thinking that if I kept working hard that things would turn around eventually, or so I hoped.

Receiving my letter of acceptance to University was one of the sweetest days of my life - I'd done it...the first in my immediate family to go to University but more importantly I'd found a way out. I could start again.

So after much reflection this past week around Mothers Day, I think I miss the romanticized idea of Mothers day more than anything else. Honestly, a few of the notes I read on Facebook brought tears to my eyes as you could feel the love and respect in the words. I guess missed out on that type of relationship with my mum and so I'm envious when I see it in others.

I try to be reflective and look upon my childhood as the foundation of who I am today, without the adversity goodness knows who I'd be or where I'd be so in some ways I'm thankful for the crucible that moulded me albeit painful at the time.

We all have a backstory...why not make yours a best seller?

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“Hanoi Posting”

A series of fictional micro-stories by Terence Wallis

Episode 44: Rage

Anh enjoyed seeing Nhu Ha each morning as she swept into the Chợ Đồng Xuân on her scooter, her mothers broken smile beaming as she greeted her, but today as she approached it wasn't her mother that greeted her, but her distraught father. Anh listened intently as Quang explained what he'd found when he'd returned from his first trip to the square earlier that morning.

Within minutes of hearing of her mothers disappearance she had summoned Trung and demanded he find her.

Phuong knew that Anh was dangerous, especially when cornered and so proceeded carefully once he knew that Nhu Ha was safely being held. He also knew that Anh would have Trung and his thugs out on the street scouring every corner of the city, and that her anger would be total, but he also knew her reactions and thus considered her anger an ally to his cause.

Shortly after a hand written note was delivered to Anh at her apartment at the Chợ Đồng Xuân, the nervous youth who delivered it knew better than to look directly at her, but presented it and slowly backed away from the door with his head bowed before running for his life.

Anh had snatched the note from the youth and began reading it as he fled down the stairs and out into the crowded market. She was incredulous at the impudence of the kidnappers, didn't they know who she was?

Screaming for Trung, she seethed with anger as he breathlessly entered her presence.

Taking a deep breath and composing herself she turned on Trung, speaking in quiet and hushed tones as her searing gaze bored into his. It was at moments like these that Trung thought that Anh was at her most dangerous, and that her sharp, black and venomous eyes were more akin to that of the Hooded Cobra than anything human. He shuddered before averting his eyes.

Heaven help whoever had kidnapped Nhu Ha he thought, for they were surely dead...

Next week: Episode 45: Face in the crowd

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This week's photos are from a recent photo shoot right here in Toronto.

Enjoy!

Wrong side of the tracks...

The disused docklands in Toronto's east end are one of my favourite places
to shoot - so gritty

Toronto on the move

The seagull wings its way along the waterfront

View from the barge toward the rarely used tugboats

The last outhouse on the wharf!

Afternoon departure from the Island Airport

The barge Radium 617 sits rusting in the channel

Look who I found on the Cherry Street lift bridge

The Gardener Expressway runs along the disused Keating Channel in Toronto's east end

The last grain silos - almost time for them to come down...

Roadworks under the Gardener Expressway - its a never ending money pit, but with no
alternative we can only watch as our property taxes keep rising...