I do a lot of family history research and often read about life as it was 150 - 300 years ago. I am fascinated by people and what they did and how their daily life progressed. I track families from when the parents are born, get married, have their children, become in laws, then grandparents and then die.
Sometimes it takes only an hour or so to do all this, sometimes less, sometimes more, depending on the number of people involved and if they have unusual names. I wonder about them as I look at the names they chose for their children - who chose the names, did the children like the names, what sort of personality did they have - were they lively, play jokes or were they quiet and studious - what did they hope to become - did they achieve it?
I feel sorrow as I note the deaths of children and loved ones and marvel at the constant flow of pregnancies. I cannot help but think of my life and compare it with theirs and wonder whether we would be friends if we were born at the same time.
Sadly, at times, as I deal with the unending bitterness extended to me by my children, I wonder about family arguments and disputes. How awful it must've been for parents to part with children who moved away or emigrated and they never saw them again. No means of communication other than letters and telegrams or messages brought by friends and aquaintances.
How fortunate we are that we can be in touch instantly all over the world and easily share happy moments, successes and triumphs. We can exchange news of every detail of our life if we so wish and yet we are often too busy to do so. Instead of sharing happy news and uplifting experiences and our day to day thoughts, we choose instead to write vile hurtful things and vent our frustration and anger about our life on absent, but contactable relatives.
Our lives are constantly changing and before long they will be at an end. How quickly time passes as we get older. I do not want to get older or become frail and dependant or have to deal with 'old age'. But I know it is inevitable. Having been ill for so long and unable to do so many things, I find I want to put aside petty differences and concentrate more on the happier moments of life.
Yet sometimes I wish I had been born in 1856, for then my life would be over and the worries and hurt and pain I feel would be gone and then maybe someone would be tracking my life, when I was born, when I got married, what I called my children and when I died - perhaps in an hour or so.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
What is the point of it all?
It has been some time since I wrote anything here. I know that no one reads it and so really I could write anything I wanted to write. I could say all kinds of things about all kinds of people and no one would be hurt or offended because no one reads this at all! It is my electronic journal -- my secret diary - my true inner self - ha ha ha as if....
So in October 2009 I went to England as planned and stayed a month as planned. I visited the dentist, the doctor, the hospital, my daughter's grave, my dad, spent time with my sister and did some family history, spent time with my son too, as planned. I made myself available to spend time with my other children as planned, but it was not wanted nor required. In fact I discovered that unbeknown to me they have lives to live and that their life goes on - it doesn't stop because I have turned up and I shouldn't expect them to drop everything. Ouch! that was painful to hear - but at least I know where I stand in the scheme of things.
You know parenting is such a wonderful thing. The moment you conceive your life changes even though you cannot see the little darling as yet - yes - your life definitely changes. In 1978 in August I discovered I was pregnant - oh joy! little did I know that this momentous occasion was actually the door beginning to firmly close on my life as I knew it and the person I was familiar with was about to begin slowly disappearing.
From this moment on, I would be subjected to an existence that was centred wholly and solely on the wellbeing, comfort and growth of another. No longer would I claim sleep when I wanted or eat any food that I wanted or indulge my time on myself or go anywhere whenever I felt the urge or indeed do anything that I might deem interesting.
I had already given up many things in order to be married and without fully understanding the long term effects of what 'being pregnant' actually entailed, I had unwittingly allowed nature to take its course and was now firmly on another route from which there could be no deviation other than death.
I do not regret having children or being a mother - it was truly what I wanted. However, if I am truthful, my rosy idiotic version of motherhood never really materialised and it has now deteriorated to such a degree that I think that maybe I should have been committed rather than be allowed to continue with my pregnancies over the following years. I suppose the fact that it was so difficult for me to produce a live child and bring it home from hospital should've been the clue that I should've spotted and I should've given up the idea of being a mother then and there and carried on with plan B - breeding Irish Setters.
I am sure it would've been a lot more satisfying and rewarding and less emotionally hurtful than having children. Although in fairness dogs cannot speak and what would they say to us if they could - might be as unpleasant as the outbursts from one's own offspring I suppose.
But here we are and there is no turning back or changing things. I feel as if I gave of myself emotionally and physically for many years and what is the return for my devotion to them and giving them the best years of my life? What gratitude am I shown for unpleasant preganancies and horribly long and nasty labours that I endured to give them life? What friendship is extended to me for defending them against the world and providing them with opportunities that neither their father nor I had? What time can they spare for me in consideration of the hours I spent without sleep whilst feeding them or nursing them when sick? What birthday and Christmas gifts do they plan and give in the same way I did for them? To be fair one child is trying to keep in touch and another remembers my birthday - but I am trying to not rely on this contact too much in case it ends.
I remember many years ago realising how far down the food chain I actually was and how far down the list of important people and things. I thought that position was fairly secure. However - apparently it is a very fluid position and difficult to maintain and it seems I have slipped even further down the line - almost out of sight.
If I sound bitter - it is because I am. Bitter and disappointed with it all. Tired of it too. Tired of thinking about it. Tired of talking about it. Tired of spending emotional energy on it. Tired of trying to come to terms with it. Tired of trying to deal with it and not let it upset me or make me ill. It is rapidly getting to the stage where I feel as if I don't want to talk to them any more than they want to talk to me or have anything to do with me. I just don't see why it has to be like this. I can't understand why they treat me like they do or have no time for me or are the least bit interested in my life. Can they really not spare 30 minutes a week on reading and sending emails? Is it really so hard?
But I don't like this state of affairs at all and am at a total loss as to what to do. I have tried so many things and none of them seem to work or improve my relationship with any of them so I ask myself - just what is the point of it all? why do I bother at all? So I think I am not going to bother any more. Perhaps 2010 will be the year I do not give them anything or try any more to be the mother I think I ought to be. If they want to talk to me or contact me they know where I am.
So in October 2009 I went to England as planned and stayed a month as planned. I visited the dentist, the doctor, the hospital, my daughter's grave, my dad, spent time with my sister and did some family history, spent time with my son too, as planned. I made myself available to spend time with my other children as planned, but it was not wanted nor required. In fact I discovered that unbeknown to me they have lives to live and that their life goes on - it doesn't stop because I have turned up and I shouldn't expect them to drop everything. Ouch! that was painful to hear - but at least I know where I stand in the scheme of things.
You know parenting is such a wonderful thing. The moment you conceive your life changes even though you cannot see the little darling as yet - yes - your life definitely changes. In 1978 in August I discovered I was pregnant - oh joy! little did I know that this momentous occasion was actually the door beginning to firmly close on my life as I knew it and the person I was familiar with was about to begin slowly disappearing.
From this moment on, I would be subjected to an existence that was centred wholly and solely on the wellbeing, comfort and growth of another. No longer would I claim sleep when I wanted or eat any food that I wanted or indulge my time on myself or go anywhere whenever I felt the urge or indeed do anything that I might deem interesting.
I had already given up many things in order to be married and without fully understanding the long term effects of what 'being pregnant' actually entailed, I had unwittingly allowed nature to take its course and was now firmly on another route from which there could be no deviation other than death.
I do not regret having children or being a mother - it was truly what I wanted. However, if I am truthful, my rosy idiotic version of motherhood never really materialised and it has now deteriorated to such a degree that I think that maybe I should have been committed rather than be allowed to continue with my pregnancies over the following years. I suppose the fact that it was so difficult for me to produce a live child and bring it home from hospital should've been the clue that I should've spotted and I should've given up the idea of being a mother then and there and carried on with plan B - breeding Irish Setters.
I am sure it would've been a lot more satisfying and rewarding and less emotionally hurtful than having children. Although in fairness dogs cannot speak and what would they say to us if they could - might be as unpleasant as the outbursts from one's own offspring I suppose.
But here we are and there is no turning back or changing things. I feel as if I gave of myself emotionally and physically for many years and what is the return for my devotion to them and giving them the best years of my life? What gratitude am I shown for unpleasant preganancies and horribly long and nasty labours that I endured to give them life? What friendship is extended to me for defending them against the world and providing them with opportunities that neither their father nor I had? What time can they spare for me in consideration of the hours I spent without sleep whilst feeding them or nursing them when sick? What birthday and Christmas gifts do they plan and give in the same way I did for them? To be fair one child is trying to keep in touch and another remembers my birthday - but I am trying to not rely on this contact too much in case it ends.
I remember many years ago realising how far down the food chain I actually was and how far down the list of important people and things. I thought that position was fairly secure. However - apparently it is a very fluid position and difficult to maintain and it seems I have slipped even further down the line - almost out of sight.
If I sound bitter - it is because I am. Bitter and disappointed with it all. Tired of it too. Tired of thinking about it. Tired of talking about it. Tired of spending emotional energy on it. Tired of trying to come to terms with it. Tired of trying to deal with it and not let it upset me or make me ill. It is rapidly getting to the stage where I feel as if I don't want to talk to them any more than they want to talk to me or have anything to do with me. I just don't see why it has to be like this. I can't understand why they treat me like they do or have no time for me or are the least bit interested in my life. Can they really not spare 30 minutes a week on reading and sending emails? Is it really so hard?
But I don't like this state of affairs at all and am at a total loss as to what to do. I have tried so many things and none of them seem to work or improve my relationship with any of them so I ask myself - just what is the point of it all? why do I bother at all? So I think I am not going to bother any more. Perhaps 2010 will be the year I do not give them anything or try any more to be the mother I think I ought to be. If they want to talk to me or contact me they know where I am.
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