Postcards From a Stranger (Postcards #1)

by Imogen Clark

I catch myself being short with Dad – well, shorter than usual. Everything he does makes my nerves jangle and I mutter under my breath uncharitably at the slightest provocation.

don’t know whether it’s because of my changed attitude towards him or whether he really is deteriorating before my eyes but I fear the latter.

So many fabulous-looking lives are fake. People only share the good parts and skip over the bad. Perfect, eye-sparkling, snow-dusted, heart-stoppingly romantic New Year’s Eves only happen in the movies.

I’m certain all mothers do, as they try to process the crushing guilt they feel for the mistakes they believe they have made.

Yet this decision cannot help but be coloured by so many other factors: her own childhood, her financial position, her partner’s views, her mental fortitude. And what she does may not be what she would choose to do in an ideal world; life is all about compromise, after all. However, the one thing that drives each mother on is a visceral need to do her best for her offspring. She may make mistakes, have regrets, wish for another spin on the merry-go-round, but each mother truly believes that the decisions she makes about her children are the best that she is capable of making at the time that she makes them.

But remember, before you rush to judgement, that all mothers are ultimately driven by the same engine, despite their differing makes and models. We are all just doing what we think is best for our children.