Too late to help my mother

When it comes to getting and staying on the road of happiness, you may be ignorant, so was I.

You may be frightened, so was I.

You may be depressed, so was I.

However, I was more tense and anxious than suspicious and depressed.

I bit my nails until my early teens and my palms would sweat at the damndest times till I was about thirty.

At best you may be bored, so was I.

Or you acted out your role and never felt much of anything. I was there too.

You may know that you are not happy but do not know why. I felt that way too.

You might be carrying around with you two big secrets, either “I am not loveable and/or I am not good enough.” They were my secrets and, by the way, the secret thoughts and feelings of most people that enter my process.

You might feel there must be a better way to live, but do not know the way. I was there too. My mother was there too. I found the better way. I was too late to help my mother.

My mother never did find the better way.

As she lay slowly dying she said to me, “Life is either a joke or cheat. I’d like to think it was a joke, because I’d hate to think I was cheated.”

As she was being buried, I shed two tears, one for each thought.

I thought, “I’m sorry mother that you died before you lived. You existed and struggled for 77 years, but you never lived. You never enjoyed life the way nature (or God, if that is in your belief system) meant it to be. You never enjoyed life the way I know now life to be. You were cheated”.

I shed a second tear as I thought, “I am also sorry you never got to know me, I’m really very lovable.”

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