Growing up I often felt like a foundling. Someone who was deposited under the gooseberry bush by a Stork,

But why did I feel like this? What made me feel so different to my family?

Well, on previous blogs I have mentioned that my family are affected by a genetic illness called Fragile X.

Basically my maternal grandparents were first cousins; their blood too closely linked. My mum was one of 5 siblings. Two males were severely handicapped, both physically and mentally. One female died whilst in infancy. One female was classed as having learning difficulties. And yet my Mum was totally normal.

Please don’t forget that this was in the 50’s; a time when terms like retarded, mentally deficient, spastic, backwards and mongol were considered totally acceptable.  As a child in the 80’s I got into many arguments and petty fights when people made fun of my family. I defended them with all my might. I was small, yet I was fierce.

Mum and Dad

To be fair, I didn’t really didn’t know any different; there were eight of us in the house and it was a loving environment. Yet I never really felt like I truly belonged.

I mean, 5/8 of the family couldn’t add 2+2 together whilst Mum, Dad and I were ‘normal’.

As I grew up I started to excel at things like reading. Most of my family couldn’t tell you the first letter of the alphabet, yet I had the reading age of an 11 year old when I was only 5.

My voracity for books was immense. I would go to the village library where as a child I could take out 6 books at a time. However, due to the speed and frequency of my visiting the library, they allowed me to have an adult ticket which would allow me to take out 12 books at a time.

The Library was closed on Saturday and Sunday. I would go on Friday afternoon after school and borrow 12 books. Now, I am not talking about Janet and John or Mr Men books here. I would take classics; Robinson Crusoe, To Kill a Mockingbird, 1984, Dracula, Charlotte’s Web, Animal Farm and more.

I also had a guilty pleasure which was Mills & Boon, Harlequin and Silhouette Romances.

I would get my 12 books out on a Friday afternoon (18 if the right librarian was on duty and knew what I was like) and I would be there after school on Monday waiting to swap them out for new fodder. I would stay up until the early hours finishing chapter after chapter.

So, what does this have to do with my family?

Not a lot, to be honest.

However, I didn’t see any similarities with my family members. I know my parents had tried for 8 years to have me, But I just felt different.

I joked for many years that I was a foundling. There was no explanation for why I was so capable, yet most of my family wasn’t. It just didn’t make sense nor seem fair.

And I didn’t really look like any of them either.

My Mum, Auntie, Uncles and Cousin all were dark haired, yet I was almost white blonde as a child.

To be fair, it didn’t really matter to me. I honestly never *really truly* believed I was a foundling. I just couldn’t work out my place in the family. I wasn’t like anyone in it and sometimes this left me feeling a little isolated.

Mum and Dad were very loving. To each other, to friends, and to the family that shared the communal house. They worked really hard to ensure that everyone had everything they needed; clothes, food, treats and a foreign holiday every summer. I certainly didn’t miss out in this aspect. Compared to a lot of my friends, I was truly lucky.

But Mum was always so busy.

Not deliberately or maliciously.

She was just looking after those who needed her more than I did. They had needs greater than I.

Ready to meet the Queen

Throughout it all I knew I was loved and cared for. The extended family looked out for me, when Mum couldn’t.

So, as I said in the beginning, what exactly has this got to do with the price of fish?!?!?

Well, I am now 44. A mature wife, mother, sister in law, blogger, part time model, traveller, vintage lover, boss and friend.

A Black Widow

I am ME.

Strong, Capable, Confident, Keen, Happy, Determined and Loyal.

I might have my mental health issues; I might be medicated for it. However this does not stop me achieving things.

Again where does my family come into this?

Well, as much as I thought I was a foundling, reaching middle age,  I cannot deny I am a dead ringer for my mum and my auntie.

My hair, chin, nose and eyes are identical. My body shape even more so.

But even more than that, my mannerisms are the same. We sound the same; we have the same build; we have the same medical conditions.

There is no denying who my Mum is; put us in a room of 50 strangers and most of them would match us up.

Like most young adults, if anyone said we were alike my immediate response would have been ‘Don’t be ridiculous, I look nothing like her.’

And even into my 30’s I would still have stood by that.

Yet here I am at 44 realising I am the spitting image of my Mum and my Auntie Gwen.

Twinwood in PUG

And you know what?

It really isn’t a bad thing. We may have had our ups and downs, and there have been a fair old few, as there are in most families. But I have to be honest when I say I admire her wholeheartedly.

My Mums parents were both dead before she was 21. She had the responsibility of all of her siblings thrust on her at this early age. When most people were living large in the swinging sixties, partying and having a grand old time, she was taking on the role of ‘Parent’

I now know that Mum wanted to go into Nursing; however due to the situation and the fact there was no-one else to look after the family, she had to give up that dream.

At the age of 76 she is STILL looking after the family. Several members have passed, but for those that haven’t she cooks, cleans. budgets, plans holidays and cares for them as she always has.

But that is what families do for each other.

My Mum

I still might not see the similarities; but I cannot deny that those genes run right through me. The stubbornness and determination is strong in me.

Over the past few months Mum and I have been getting her affairs in order.

I have become the sole guardian of my cousin and uncles. I am there to care for them, be responsible for them and ensure they can stay in the family home until their death.

Happy Days

As morbid as that sounds, this is a responsibility that I have to embrace wholeheartedly.

It may be a mantle that most people would not want placed on them.

But I am the ONLY one. As an only child. as the only family member that is compos mentis, it comes down to me.

Many would shy away from this task. But there is no other choice. There is no-one else to do it.

I suppose I should look at my life and circumstances and thank the heavens that I have got to the age I am without this being put upon my shoulders.

Simply, Mum is not a well woman.

5 Years ago

To be fair, all through my life (without sounding horrible) we expected her to die before my Dad. She almost did when I was around 9 years old due to a blood clot on her lungs. I remember clearly being given my Christmas presents early as she wasn’t expected to survive. Thankfully she did.

In the back of my mind I always expected Mum to pass away and Dad to take over the reins. He was so strong and capable. I knew he would keep the family together. He could cope and run things like always.

Yet three years ago we were given the news that Dad had terminal cancer.

From diagnosis to death lasted a mere two weeks. Nowhere near enough time to say and do all the things I wanted and needed to do.

This totally spun my world out of control. Without Dad, the prospect of me being the sole carer for the family loomed nearer than ever.

Don’t get me wrong; I want my Mum to be here for at least another 20+ years. But I have to be realistic. The fact is that this responsibility is creeping closer and closer.

What seemed like something I would take on in the very distant future, once my own working life was done, my children possibly parents themselves, or indeed grandparents, the reality has hit home. It isn’t as far off in the future than it used to be.

Recent photo

I left home nearly 30 years ago; those years have flown by and that ‘distant future’ is now simply… The Future.

It will be my turn to take the reins much sooner than I want it to be. Whilst I will NOT shirk my responsibilities, it means a massive change in my (and my family’s) life. Things will not be the same as they were before.

But I guess that is exactly what Mum felt like back in 1963. The fact that this what we have to do. What is expected of us.

I guess I am a lot more like my mother than I ever realised……….