DAY 17: One Thing I WISH I Could Tell My Parents
In 1991, to celebrate graduating, I was treated to a trip to St. Vincent with my mum. It turned out to be an important holiday in more ways than one: it would be the last time I saw my grandmother, who died following a stroke just three weeks after I returned to England, and it was the summer I met the man I was to marry (I’ll call him ‘A’).
A was a quiet, reflective person, and we struck up a friendship soon after I arrived. He lived with his mother, stepfather and three younger siblings in the same village as my grandparents. Two pieces of information are salient, so I will share them with you: A was younger than me, and his stepfather was my mum’s brother (I always feel the need to emphasise the fact that there was no blood connection between us, just in case people miss the point about my uncle being his stepfather).
We pledged undying love to one another and stayed in touch, long-distance style, after I left. Those were the days when letter-writing was standard; Royal Mail made a small fortune thanks to me. A year after we met, A came to England for a holiday, and we got engaged. I told my parents and sister, but other than that, it was a low-key affair, not at all like the kinds of celebrations my large extended family were used to. In fact, my aunts and uncles had little involvement in my relationship. I’d told my mum’s youngest sister about A early on, and I was genuinely shocked by her reaction: she wasn’t happy for me, and quite bizarrely, started to talk about my character. Apropos of nothing, she said I wasn’t very good with small children. In stark contrast to her, my aunt by marriage, who’d met A, described him as ‘the male version’ of me. Sadly, the reaction of my first aunt was a flavour of what was to come.
In 1993, I started my teaching career and moved to London. Romantically, I was a woman on a mission, and I began to make plans to start a life with A. Just before Christmas, he packed up and moved to the UK, living with my parents until we found a place of our own a couple of months later. We always knew we wanted to marry, but because of his status, we had a small, immigration-sized window in which to tie the knot. Large weddings could be fun, but they required a long lead up time and a lot of money. I didn’t have the luxury of either, so we kept it small.
By this time, the wider family had got wind of what was going down, and the mood was grim. A and I attended a family gathering one Sunday to formally announce our impending nuptials and express the hope that they would celebrate with us. Ten pairs of eyes were on us, and only two were vaguely supportive. The overall consensus was that they were not happy and they would not be cheering us on as we said, ‘I do’.
Context here is key, and it is important to understand that these were the people who’d co-parented me as a child. My mum had four sisters and a brother in England and, along with their spouses and children, we were a large crowd. I adored my family. Wherever I was in the world – at university in Guildford, Berlin, Stockholm and Düsseldorf – I would carry with me photographs of my relatives. They were everything to me. My sister had got married only eight months before, and like family weddings over the years, it was a case of ‘all hands on deck’. The women cooked and baked and the men provided the muscle and sourced the alcohol. To know that none of them would be there was devastating. I don’t believe all of them were against the marriage: one or two of them disapproved and created a ‘You’re either with us or against us’ atmosphere and those relatives who wished us well did not have the courage to defy the minority.
My four male cousins came, although I found out recently that they were instructed to attend as proxies. Their presence was a comfort, but it wasn’t the same.
There were no presents and just one card
And now to my parents. My relationship with my father had never been close: we barely spoke to one another. I was in the kitchen when I told him I was engaged, and he said something like, ‘Well, if that’s what you want to do, Laurie, that’s alright with me.’ My mum was under more pressure than my dad. I don’t know what conversations took place between her and the next sister down from her, the one who was the most vocal about the marriage, but I can’t imagine they were pleasant. On the subject of A’s age and proximity to the family, I’m sure there was a ‘What will people say?’ vibe.
Everything was emotionally chaotic for A, me, my parents, and my sister who had been pressurised by an aunt as well. Thank God she came through for me on the day.
In spite of the feeling of rejection that A and I experienced, the day was beautiful and so much fun. I used some roses that were in a vase on my windowsill as a bouquet and my school friend recycled confetti from the previous wedding, picking it up off the ground and showering us with it! My mum was a gifted seamstress and made my dress in a week. A and I had such a laugh cooking the night before. After the wedding, we went back to the flat and tucked in with gusto. There was wine galore, more than we could drink, and at the end of the evening, another school friend got out the hoover and vacuumed the living room floor for us. Nearly thirty years later, she still reckons it was the best wedding she’s ever been to.
My parents and I never talked about what happened with my family. We never speculated on why they took issue with us getting married. My mum and sister stopped going to the family Sunday gathering. There was no fuss, no grand declaration, they simply stopped. My mum died six years ago, so I can only speculate on her reasons for no longer representing as the elder sister. My dad died in 2017, so there will be no conversation with him, either.
I wish I’d known how the actions of my aunts and uncles affected my mum and dad. It must have been painful for them. If they had bowed to pressure and stayed away from our wedding, which I know anecdotally lots of parents have done (including two of my friends’), it would have broken me.
I wish I could tell my parents how thankful I am that they stood by me at a time when I needed them the most.
Written by Laurie O’Garro
When the country’s not in semi-lockdown, Laurie works for the Metropolitan Police and pursues a craft called ‘string art’. Her daughter is currently in her final year of university, studying online in London. Laurie also writes poetry and flash fiction.
www.instagram.com/thecatchuptalks
