My Mum

My Mum was your typical Australian surfer girl. A beautiful, blonde, blue eyed girl (only she didn’t surf, but boy could she tan!). She broke all the rules when she choose not to marry her childhood sweetheart and instead hooking up with a ‘wog’ from the Eastern Suburbs.

When I write that I imagine a rebel, but that is not my mum at all…. Or is it? This whole journey has turned my ideas and thoughts on their head. I once called my mum a doormat, because I thought she let Dad walk all over her and therefore walk over me. I now realize that she is all about compromise, which is not a negative quality or something to be seen as a weakness which my angry teenage self could not quite reconcile.

My relationship with her has changed dramatically since my diagnosis for the better. I often think of how lucky we are. I get to learn to love her, understand her, admired her. Something that I struggled with in the past. She has showed me that I have her strength and resilience, her kind heart and beautiful soul. I feel like I pushed this part of me away and only now am I begining to embrace the genes she has given me too.


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