I was 16 (1986) and in care when my mother died. My parents were divorced and my sisters went with them, I went with my mother.
I was 14 and social workers came to school, told me she'd been sectioned and I was going to a home. I wasn't allowed to go to my dad's, they decided that as I wanted to live with "her," I could shove it, which suited me.
My stepmother rang the home one day and told me what a disappointment I'd been being, so I told her to fuck off and stormed out.
A few days later, my gran rang and spoke to one of the residential social workers, she was really upset and angry at my callous disrespect at not going to my mam's funeral. One of them sat down with me and asked if I had not told anyone because I couldn't cope with it.
Once she found out, she was incensed that they hadn't tried ringing the home and actually explaining it, so that they could tell me.
To be honest, she wasn't exactly the best motherhood material, she used to disappear off for days with blokes, but we loved each other and she always went to bat for me with school, whereas my dad would have belted me.
I was angry for years, it ruined my adolescence and early 20s.