Smorgasbord Posts from Your Archives 2021 -#Potluck – #Family – I loved my mother, although I didn’t know it by Eva Hnizdo

Since this series began in January 2018 there have been over 1100 Posts from Your Archives where bloggers have taken the opportunity to share posts to a new audience… mine.

The topics have ranged from travel, childhood, recipes, history, family and the most recent series was #PotLuck where I shared a random selection of different topics. This series is along the same lines… but is a ‘Lucky Dip’

In this series I will be sharing posts from the first six months of 2021 – This series is now closed but there will be another in 2022.

This is the first post by author and retired GP Eva Hnizdo and it is poignant look at a complex mother and daughter relationship.

I loved my mother, although I didn’t know it.

It is Mother’s Day in the USA. Not here, but my family never celebrated it anyway.

However, all those entries on FB made me think about my mum.

A Holocaust survivor, she was 18 when the war finished, and found out that her father and brother, as well as many other relatives have been killed.

She managed remarkably to jump 5 grades to graduate with her class at school, school she had to leave age 11 because she was Jewish. She met my father and married.

From now on, life was going to be perfect.

Not quite. The communists came to power, and my parent’s marriage was not happy. Being with my mother was not easy, she tended to say intentionally hurtful things, she was manipulative, and enjoyed making scenes.

I was her only child, and no doubt she loved me. But she was looking for a small version of herself in me and was continually frustrated that I seemed to be the exact opposite. I was equally frustrated that my mother wanted me to be so many things that I was not. We were both disappointed in each other. We had many arguments.

My parents’ marriage didn’t last. After their divorce, she studied medicine and became a dermatologist, quite an achievement.

Our relationship was stormy, although it got better with time. Sometimes we don’t notice love. She was often hurtful, but she was always trying to protect me from being hurt by other people. I remember how she worried about me and wanted to help me. I remember how she used to embarrass me by telling other people how brilliant, beautiful and accomplished I was. She often told me the exact opposite in private. I somehow didn’t notice the love, because of her poisonous words, but even those words were often meant to protect me.

I found signs of her love by clearing her flat in Prague after she died. She kept all my letters from when I was a child!

I also found this photo of my parents on their wedding day. 1947, before the communists came to power. Two years after the war.

She looks beautiful and happy.

I started to write my novel after she died. It is fiction, but it deals with a difficult mother-daughter relationship. Writing the book made me come to terms with my feelings. And now, I only feel love for that competent, brave, damaged yet wonderful person who was my mother, Hana. She is dead so I can’t tell her I love her. But I do.

© Eva Hnizdo 2021

My thanks to Eva for allowing me to share from her archives and I know she would love your feedback..

About Eva Hnizdo

I am a Jewish Czech, born in Prague in 1953.

Whenever my family thought about emigration and decided against it, they made a mistake. Many of my relatives died in the concentration camps. My parents, after surviving the Holocaust, spent their lives under an oppressive communist regime.

I studied medicine at Charles University in Prague and became a doctor. I was a refugee and obtained political asylum in the UK in 1986.

I’m a retired general practitioner. I worked in the same surgery in Watford for 23 years, patients knew me as “ Doctor Heller” because nobody could pronounce my surname.

During almost 40 years of working as a doctor, I had the privilege to see into my patients’ lives, their problems, and their solutions to those problems. I feel it is not a coincidence that many writers are medical doctors. They have many stories to tell. I am now retired and spend my time writing.

Connect to Eva: Amazon UKAnd: Amazon US – Follow Eva: GoodreadsWebsite: Eva Hnizdo Writer – Facebook: Eva Hnizdo – Twitter: @EvaHnizdo


Thanks for dropping in today and I know that  Eva would love your feedback.. thanks Sally.

20 thoughts on “Smorgasbord Posts from Your Archives 2021 -#Potluck – #Family – I loved my mother, although I didn’t know it by Eva Hnizdo

  1. Thanks to Eva for sharing some of her painful relationship memories with us. I’m curious. I just received my paperback copy of Eva’s – Why Didn’t They Leave. Eva mentioned she wrote a fictional novel. Is this book fictional? ❤

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  2. What a beautiful and touching post from Eva. Tissue-worthy Sally. There is something poignant that happens as we age and gain perspectives that weren’t available to us when we were younger and in the thick of things. Love is a beautiful outcome.

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  3. A moving and beautiful post. The first place my mind went to was a school memory, as it often does. Teachers typically made some kind of Mother’s Day or Father’s Day project (Father’s Day sometimes happened after school was out.) It wasn’t required but was what I’d describe as “expected.” The problem is so many children sadly did not have a relationship with one parent or rarely saw their parent due to divorce or prison. Sometimes parents had passed or were simply out of the picture. How do you rationalize that to a third-grader? I usually gave the child the option to make one for their grandmother, guardian, etc., or go volunteer in another classroom if they’d prefer. It was one of those very delicate situations that are thrust upon teachers.

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    • Thank you Pete.. I know even when I was at school in the 1950s and 60s there were quite a few children who had lost fathers and other family members in the war, especially as my home town was a naval base and had been heavily bombed. A tough start for a child and they are lucky to have teachers who understand that.. xx

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