Actually having been out of contact and only able to view on my phone (which in an odd way has lost it's normal view and only shows the tiny, teeny, weeny, desktop view), I was planning to offer words of comfort, something that soothed, like a balm for the soul. But I got my head pelted with sweets and I found a woefully decorated bus.
But here goes anyway...... isindie (and mouse too to some extent). Of course as we are growing up we all long for approval from the most important people in our lives. And who more important than our mother? Oh I was so good at that when I was young - working out what to do and say to gain approval (and love) - and then of course as I grew and became my own person what a dilemma.... to be authentically me, or to seek approval; to be authentically me, or to seek approval; to be authentical...... (yes you get my drift).
How wonderful if would have been if both could have happened. That I could have been the 'me' that I wanted to be, and I could also have had unconditional acceptance and love from my parents. But that was not the family I grew up in. I could see it (or at least some of it) in my friends' families, but it wasn't how things were for me. And it made me distant from my Mum. Often I didn't tell her important things because I couldn't count on her support or approval. Sometimes it was difficult to judge and rather than risk getting it wrong I withdrew further.
When I split from my abusive exh my Mum told me I should have stayed for the sake of 'the family' and that most of the problem was my fault for working and having enough money to be able to leave !! 
I told her that I was desperately unhappy and abused, and she said 'yes, I know, but you make your bed and you lie on it.'
Gosh, that hurt. I'd hoped for support or understanding or something..... not a bit of it...
And still, and still, over the last years when she was ill and afraid and increasingly helpless I found that I wanted to help her, to make things OK. And in the last few weeks when she was vulnerable and alone I know that she needed my love.
I was lucky enough to be with her when she died, to know that however stressed our relationship was, I did what I could to let her go in peace. At the end, I still have time to resolve my feelings, to use my experiences constructively, to be a better mother or friend or lover or wife, or simply to be better and truer to myself. To take the best of her, and the best of me and to pass it on, with grace.