Mother!

It was not an easy decision to make, but it had to be done. I could not live with it any longer; my conscious would not allow it. Right or wrong, they are my parents. No matter what has transpired through out my challenging life, at the end of the day they are, my parents. Maybe they did the best they could. I try to convince myself. Maybe it was all they knew to do. After all, how can I neglect their sad and troubled upbringing?
My mother at the tender age of nine, was sent away to live with another family from time to time. As were her other sisters’ .She cooked and cleaned for them and in return, they offered safe shelter, but very little if any of monetary compensation. I do not blame my grandma for this, I know now she had little choice. My mother and her siblings did not know it then, but this heart wrenching decision from my grandmother, assured their survival. Both my parents’ victims them selves, victims of failed marriages and broken homes. My mother herself witnessed and suffered physical and mental abuse from the hands of many adult males including her uncle. Her mother frail and ill did the best she could for her children in order to survive. I recently discovered that my grandmother convinced my grandfather to allow her and her children to live in a shack adjacent to his new family on their property. She was trying to keep the family together, I thought.
No! I was absolutely assured. It was for the love of her life . Her unconditional devotion to my grandfather ,blinded this beautiful woman to do the unthinkable. She and her children alone in a shack, while the only love she had ever known lay in bed with another.
She died shortly after that in her early forties. I have, heard she died from asthma; my guess is she died from a broken heart. I remember vaguely the wake. I was only about four or five year’s young. My grandma lay there sound asleep, I thought.
What else could I think; I think I may have even called for her to awake, but sound asleep she remained. A child I was. If I had been aware of the sad reality of life and death, I would have kissed her gently on her angelic forehead and said
good-bye. Instead, off to play I went. Grandma, I am no longer five, but I am sorry grandma and as I look up now, high into the heavens, catch this kiss I blow to you. I have no doubt that is where you are, after all, that is the perfect place for angels like you!

I did not go to my other grandmas funeral, I think now I understand why, to you grandma I also send a kiss I love you both!

I was on the road and near mom and dads’ house, so I made the call on my mobile. I had not dialed this number for quite sometime, but thanks to modern technology, all I needed to do was simply scroll down to the listing of Mom and Dad. Hello, said a frail and weak voice. If I closed my eyes I could almost imagine this old frail and ailing woman, that is how she sounded and it tore my chest apart.
A difficult task it was, a hand on the wheel, my mobile in the other with out her noticing, I managed to clear my throat and dry my eyes. How are you? I asked. I am OK she said, just simply OK I thought.
A moment of silence and then she asked, how are you? OK, I said. My back has been bothering me quite a bit lately, more than usual, I confided. That was all she needed to know.
She did not need to know what had transpired in the past forty-eight hours. The most severe depression I have felt in the longest time. I think she heard it in my voice, Mothers intuition I suppose. She knew I was not well. You should have called me! I would have brought you some home made vegetable soup! She candidly admitted.
My mother, coming to my rescue, I imagined for a moment I was a child once more. Coming to my aid as she did when I was young, her soft and magical kisses on my scraped knee. Her warm and tender hugs that made all the bad go away. As I wipe the tears that have now traveled down my cheeks to the corners of my mouth, I could taste the bitterness and the sweetness of my life. I clear my throat once more and try to regain my composure. She eventually convinced me to drop by for some of her soup. Little did she realize that I needed no convincing at all.

My life, it has not been easy to put it mildly. However, life nonetheless, this woman has given me and for that, I thank her.

Throughout my adolescent years and most of my adult life, my mother has been a source of sadness and depression. She has suffered greatly, I never knew it before, but I do now.
My father, on the other hand, he has been more like a pressure cooker of frustration and anxiety, ready to blow without the slightest warning. This potentially lethal concoction has simmered inside of me, at times to the point of spilling over.

My parents' that is, what they are. I did not choose them and they did not choose me.
God willed us to be a family. I am not a hateful man nor am I, a spiteful man. I am also not a forgetful man; however, I am a forgiving man.
Therefore, I hold my head up high and say, thank you mom.
Thank you for picking me up when I had fallen. Thank you for your magical kisses. Thank you for your gentle embrace. Thank you for giving me life!

I love you!