Life often intrudes on intentions.
It happened to me again today, so my focus on Dog Whistle Politics will continue another time. At the moment my mother is too much on my mind to write about anything else.
A broken hip is a serious injury for anyone. For someone 96 years old it can be life threatening.
It is no surprise, then, that her fall is a very big deal to our family. She is fighting hard to walk again, or just to be able to move from a bed to a chair, but other factors keep emerging that are making any quality recovery slow at best.
As I sat talking to her the other day, at times simply watching her in the sometimes long intervals of silence that happen in our conversations, I realized I was looking at the person who first taught me the meaning of unconditional love.
I also realized how huge that is.
It’s what good mothers do, of course, but not all do. But for those whose hearts are such that unconditional love comes to them naturally, they make the world better one child at a time.
That’s what my mother did, at times against great odds.
When we were young – and even not so young – my brothers and I disappointed her a lot, and maybe on occasion even broke her heart, yet there was not and never has been a moment when the three of us ever doubted she loved us and always would.
The long and short of our story is that we are the luckiest sons on earth.
Whatever unfolds in regard to her present circumstances, I know her days with us will be fewer than we have already enjoyed, and certainly fewer than we wish were possible.
So now I find myself not being able to ask her enough questions about our family history, or vague incidents needing clarification and explanation. Her mind is still as sharp as a pin. She remembers everything in detail, quickly able to correct my assumptions about something in the past or fill in the rest of the story I only know bits and pieces about.
There won’t be enough time to have all my questions answered, of course, but, then, that is not the real reason I am asking them anyway.
I just want to talk to her, to listen, to love her as a son grateful beyond measure, so that when the day I know is coming arrives, I will have made new memories with her to go with all the ones born of yesterday’s life together in our family.
Greatness is often attributed to those who live on the world’s stage, whose names appear in the news, and whose achievements are major.
But my mother’s good life reminds me that there is also a different kind of greatness that comes from quiet, selfless living that never gets in the news and can often be taken for granted, but without which the whole world would be diminished.
As I said, my brothers and I are the luckiest sons on earth.
I wish every son, and every daughter, could say the same thing.
