
Thinking
... and remembering. My mother used to say, when I had been naughtier
than normal, behaving badly or did something for me was fun but to her
was terrible: 'I punish you severely only because I love you very
much'. That too to her was reasonable and real, because I remember
once, when I was absent from home overnight without asking or telling
her first, she spanked me so hard while river of tears ran down her
face, and sobbing.
Being
young, innocent (I thought), ignorant (I later learned) I used to
think, and pray: 'If only Mama loved me a little less ...! How much more
fun my life would be'. I never imagine I could be so very miserable
when she couldn't love me any more. Nor could I understand why, so many
years later, I still think of that one single episode when I made her
so angry and frustrated, to punish me so hard that it obviously hurt
her far more than me; she cried then while doing so, I didn't when
receiving it. What I felt at the time was anger too, now not sure
whether it's at her or at myself; a bit of both I guess. I never forgot
that. And I had never done the same thing since, not while she was
still alive.
That
very mixed up feeling occurs to me not just today, but often, and with
nothing in particular that's remotely connected with that part of the
past, and almost always with deep regret. I loved her dearly then, more
so now, yet I could hurt her so without any pain on my part at the
time. Don't they say people often hurt those they love most?
Don't
ever use that as an excuse. You would hurt yourself real bad later,
even decades later. At least I did, and am still hurting.
Tags: motherlove
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