_{My mother in her youth.}

In recent times, I have recognized, much to my regret, that my parents were not meant to be together. He was 15 years older than my mother, who had me at 22. Today I realize that I was quite young and the way they related to each other, the example they gave us, was not the best.

There was a lot of discord over anything, there was a fight in my home, well I couldn't call it a home, in that house. Talking about love would be a lack of responsibility on my part, I never felt that manifestation of love from my father. He was a very selfish man with impressive mood swings, he could stand up so happy and half an hour later be furious, he could go out into the street furious and come back happy.

As the eldest daughter I had to witness scenes of domestic violence that inevitably had an official recipient in me, I received physical punishment too often. My father was an educated person, he seemed to know everything, he had good taste in music, in clothing, he liked to talk well, with the people on the street he was very kind; but with us he was despotic.

This permanent change of mood meant that instead of respect, a relationship of fear was established. I was afraid of my father and that emotion remained throughout my life

_{My mother with my oldest daughter forty years ago.}

My mother was an oasis, she was sweet, gentle, clear, cheerful, sociable, she was also a reader, she also liked music, she was a hard worker with her eyes set on her two daughters. I found refuge in her every time, she always had the right word to calm my doubts, questions or curiosities as a child. I knew I could count on her, she offered that warm space where my spirit found peace. Neither of us are on this plane anymore.

I often dream that I have her phone number in my hands, I try to call her and I can't, and I wonder why I don't talk to her if doing so is so pleasant. Sometimes the question that comes up is why I don't visit her if so much harmony is achieved by her side.

I have the gift of physical resemblance, as I continue to age, I am becoming more like her and I like that. It fulfills me to be for my grandchildren, what she was for my children. I like to be for my children also that balm, that place where we can laugh at ourselves and bring anecdotes to just relax.

_{My mother and my niece thirty-three years ago.}

My mother left a big mark on me, because of her personality, being gentle is a virtue, a very polite woman who rarely lost her temper, she left me with a taste for soft words and I keep with me the certainty that we always had good conversations, and that I know that she found in me the daughter she wanted me to be, I was educated, and I had the home she wanted me to have.

My parents separated in the last few years, it would have been good, for both of them, if they had done it earlier; But society with its limitations becomes a jailer and there are prisons from which one cannot easily escape; but in the end they did it and my mother was able to have, thanks to my sister, who took her home and fostered that separation, a space of less aggression.

I counted on her even if she was 6 hours away, on the vacation visits we made each other, at Christmas and every time my children were born, when she went and stayed with me for a while. In the end I must be grateful for the 50-50 that I have for each of them, trying to extract with tweezers what is best for me from each inherited temperament.

Thanks to our friend @ericvancewalton for encouraging this type of memories, which are part of this time the memoir of Mondays number 29.

Thank you for your kind reading.

My content is original.

Own images
I have used Google translator.