Great post Tom. Makes me think of Mark Twain's comment - paraphrasing - "when I was 16 my dad was the dumbest man in the world. By the time I was twenty-one, I couldn't believe how much smarter he had gotten.
Not sure any of us truly appreciate our parents, maybe wish we had done more with them, until they're gone.
My memories of my Mum tend to be of her as an old lady. A kind, caring, funny, wise old lady who lived a simple life and didn't ask for much.
She needed me then, and I was her willing helper, so I spent more time with her. More time than I'd spent with her in years. The balance of power had shifted though. I once depended on her, now she depended on me.
Caring for an elderly person is time consuming. It was a 'labour of love' though, not a burden.
I like to remember that she was once an upright, strong, capable woman, but time erased that version of her. It happens. People grow old and when they leave us, we remember the older, more frail, dependent person. That version of them.
When she died, I missed her presence in my life so much. I was free of my caring duties, but it brought me no joy.
Her unconditional love for me, her encouragement, her wisdom, her laugh, her hugs - no more.
I'd drive Mum into town most Fridays and we'd link arms. She hated the thought of using a stick to aid walking, so she'd put her arm through mine. I remember thinking then how slow our progress was. We'd walk at snail's pace. We'd go to a little cafe for a cup of tea, pop into Marks and Spencer's Food Hall, browse, and then I'd carry her shopping bag back to the car. We'd sit on a bench en route and 'watch the world go by' as she'd say, and have a chat. Pretty much the same outing, every Friday.
I went into town not long after she'd died, and although you think you're all cried out with grief, you never are.
How I missed her arm in mine, how I missed ambling along at that slow pace, and when I came to that bench, there it was, empty.
I sat on it, alone, and cried like a baby.
You never miss the water till the well runs dry, as they say. I'm now a pensioner, and looking back, I wish I'd appreciated my Mum and Dad more when they were younger, more active and capable.
I dread to think how my own, adult children view me. I am still active, have a good and fairly busy life, in that I get out and about, drive, have a partner, friends, go places. They lead busy lives, and their love is from afar, or in WhatsApp messages or fleeting visits. That's okay. That's life. The love is strong. The Mother and child bond is still there.
But we should take time to reflect, and if it's the case, make sure we tell those we love how much we appreciate them, while we have the chance.
I’m 73 and my parents have been gone awhile. I’m enjoying retirement and was thinking today how lucky I am to have had my good parents. I give them complete credit for my having financial stability and being contented. Good parents are a blessing.
Great post Tom. Makes me think of Mark Twain's comment - paraphrasing - "when I was 16 my dad was the dumbest man in the world. By the time I was twenty-one, I couldn't believe how much smarter he had gotten.
Lovely piece. Made me think.
Not sure any of us truly appreciate our parents, maybe wish we had done more with them, until they're gone.
My memories of my Mum tend to be of her as an old lady. A kind, caring, funny, wise old lady who lived a simple life and didn't ask for much.
She needed me then, and I was her willing helper, so I spent more time with her. More time than I'd spent with her in years. The balance of power had shifted though. I once depended on her, now she depended on me.
Caring for an elderly person is time consuming. It was a 'labour of love' though, not a burden.
I like to remember that she was once an upright, strong, capable woman, but time erased that version of her. It happens. People grow old and when they leave us, we remember the older, more frail, dependent person. That version of them.
When she died, I missed her presence in my life so much. I was free of my caring duties, but it brought me no joy.
Her unconditional love for me, her encouragement, her wisdom, her laugh, her hugs - no more.
I'd drive Mum into town most Fridays and we'd link arms. She hated the thought of using a stick to aid walking, so she'd put her arm through mine. I remember thinking then how slow our progress was. We'd walk at snail's pace. We'd go to a little cafe for a cup of tea, pop into Marks and Spencer's Food Hall, browse, and then I'd carry her shopping bag back to the car. We'd sit on a bench en route and 'watch the world go by' as she'd say, and have a chat. Pretty much the same outing, every Friday.
I went into town not long after she'd died, and although you think you're all cried out with grief, you never are.
How I missed her arm in mine, how I missed ambling along at that slow pace, and when I came to that bench, there it was, empty.
I sat on it, alone, and cried like a baby.
You never miss the water till the well runs dry, as they say. I'm now a pensioner, and looking back, I wish I'd appreciated my Mum and Dad more when they were younger, more active and capable.
I dread to think how my own, adult children view me. I am still active, have a good and fairly busy life, in that I get out and about, drive, have a partner, friends, go places. They lead busy lives, and their love is from afar, or in WhatsApp messages or fleeting visits. That's okay. That's life. The love is strong. The Mother and child bond is still there.
But we should take time to reflect, and if it's the case, make sure we tell those we love how much we appreciate them, while we have the chance.
I’m 73 and my parents have been gone awhile. I’m enjoying retirement and was thinking today how lucky I am to have had my good parents. I give them complete credit for my having financial stability and being contented. Good parents are a blessing.
Beautiful.