For THEM I Cry

Recently, I have come to the earth shattering realization that
the closer one is to attaining the age of forty the more one
begins to value their own life and livelihood in general.
Although I am quickly approaching the “ever dreaded” mid-forty
mark I am fully aware that time is running out for me.
Everything and everyone meaningful to my existence becomes
significant to the third power divided by two. As I have
mentioned in previous posts I have come to grips with my own
mortality and I now scurry to do a little bit of this, and a lot
more of that, in terms of meeting my long term goals and
spending invaluable interpersonal time with loved ones and
friends.
As we watch our children grow into adults we yearn for quality
time with them. I know I do. Anyone who’s ever been to my house
and questioned why I am always home alone have heard me quip,
“My children don’t even know who the hell I am anymore”. I say
this sarcastically of course, but I rarely see my children and
spend quality time with them even less.
They are both involved in “love” relationships and spend
extended amounts of time interacting and engaging with the
friends and family members of their significant others. My son
goes to school full time and my daughter works for now. So where
does that leave me as a parent? When do I get to spend real
“quality time” with either of them?
When my children entered the world of “teenage hood” it was very
difficult for me because throughout their lives I sacrificed my
life in hopes of a better one for them. Their well being became
my entire world. What dedicated parent doesn’t do this to some
extent? It would appear that they have no time for me now.
Now I settle for moments. Sometimes when my son comes home from
school (school ends at 8 p.m.), he comes into my room to say
hello, flashes that killer smile of his, and we automatically
are engaged in momentous conversation. He might talk to me (or
“kick it” with me as he describes it) for an hour or so. When
it’s over that’s all the time I get. That was MY “moment”. I
might not have another “moment” with him for another few weeks
so I take what I can, when I can, and I am grateful. At my age,
those small “moments” are precious.
Yesterday I presented my son with a card. I am a “card giving”
type of person and I had no particular reason for doing such. I
realize that this is my way to somehow grasp his or her
attention and reel them back into my zone if only for a brief
while. My son was surprised that I had given him such a card. He
was visibly touched and reminded that he is still loved. The
card served as a reverberation that his existence and his
opinion of me, and the distinct relationship between mother and
son remains valued BY me. Every now and again I feel the urge to
remind them of “who I am”, a “remember me” type of deal.
Before I was even able to comprehend speaking publicly, creating
a blog or writing a book I yearned to leave a legacy for my two.
A gift of some sort for them to be proud of once my life has
been reduced to a memory. With my children’s father paralyzed
and no longer able to actively participate in their lives on the
level he once was, I am it as far as the one who “actively
parents”. I now comprehend wholeheartedly that I must seek a
legacy no more. Each time I write, each time a book is
published, a story posted, printed, downloaded or e-mailed, my
legacy is emphasized, underscored and exclaimed on each page
that bears my words.
I am hopeful that my two have the logic of mind to read the
words that I’ve written while I am alive, fused with energy,
healthy and well. Reading words soaked with love and drowned in
mood after a loved one has passed can be hauntingly
overwhelming. Long after I am gone, my expressions will unleash
profound emotion within their hearts each time they choose to
examine them. What you’ve just read and what you read now is
history in the making. This is my children’s history and THIS IS
THEIR legacy.
In previous years most of the women in my family sooner or later
succumbed as a result of some form of cancer. More often than
not, their fate usually was huddled with breast cancer. As a
result, I carry the weight of having to tirelessly give myself
self-breast exams once per month and endure painful mammograms
yearly. Because of the high risk that I carry of acquiring this
dreaded disease, and at the persistence of my physicians, I also
have a sonogram soon after my mammogram. I am told one test
picks up what the other test does not. So far I have been lucky.
Every woman over the age of forty should have a mammogram at
least once per year. (And you don’t need me to restate what all
of us continually hear on television concerning this fact.) We
as women must assuredly know what we need to do in order to
remain healthy, hopefully we’re all doing it.
As of late, I started grappling with one very important question
that I would like to ask my children. Unfortunately, and due to
a recent outbreak of spinelessness (hopefully temporary) I have
not yet queried my two because they will unquestionably believe
that I know something that I am not sharing with them regarding
my health. The question I want to ask them is this: “If I found
out that I had a terminal illness would you want to know?
(Before I continue let me state unequivocally and to the best of
my knowledge and belief that I am not suffering from any illness
terminal or otherwise. Wouldn’t want to get any sympathy
sentiments and e-mails just yet.) Although I have no idea why I
have a need to have this question answered, I just do. I know I
feel that it is my children’s God given right to know or not to
know if I’m going to be around for another Christmas,
Thanksgiving or birthday.
I do not want to take away their right of choice as was
unavoidably done to me. When I was a young girl my mother sat my
sister and I down and told us that she was dying, point blank.
There were no if ands or buts about it. There was no heads-up to
offer. It was the end of the line for her and that was that! I’m
sure that she must’ve known how little time she had left
although she never shared her timeline with us. I was stunned
coupled with disbelief and fear. From the moment the words “I’m
dying” left her mouth, my childhood as I knew it would be no
more.
My two are well beyond the age that I was when the bomb was
dropped on me. However I had no choice in whether I wanted to
know the inevitable pertaining to my mother’s premature demise.
Maybe she told my sister and I in the manner and with the level
of acceleration that she did because her time left on earth was
minimal. She probably felt pressed, wanted to get it out of the
way and get on with her funeral arrangements, which she did.
Nonetheless, I still think that my two should have a right to
decide if knowing of my pending death beforehand is something
that they’d want to take on.
When I think of my death, wake, funeral or cremation, I weep. I
shed tears because I know how it feels to have a parent die.
Sure I was 12-years old but the pain was still laced with
anguish even so.
I tell my two the day that I pass, the way that they view people
in the world and the world itself, will change for them forever.
Their response is usually “Oh Ma, you look healthy. You’re gonna
be around for a long, long time. What does “looking” healthy
have to do with anything?? For their sakes, I hope their
intuition is correct.
When I began to think of their lives (especially present day
before they are fully ready to live on their own in the real
sense), I cry. I cry because I know how hurt my son is going to
be when he remembers each time that he brushed me off when I was
telling him something for his own good. I cry because I know
full well how painful it's going to be when they must go through
my belongings to determine who gets what, what goes where or to
whom, or what must be thrown away. I cry when I think of my
daughter and how terrible she is going to feel when I am gone
and she remembers and realizes that her “attitude” was one
attitude too much and not warranted at the time. All teenagers
have attitudes, especially girls. I’ve excused her and moved on.
But will she be able to “forgive” herself? Will my son?
When I am clairvoyant and allow myself to envision the scenarios
surrounding my death, I weep still. But when I cry I am not
crying for myself because if I am taken from this world today, I
will depart knowing that I have lived my life to the richest
extent possible. My rewards have never been defined by money or
materialism. I cry for my two beautiful children. They have
never had a family member that's “considered close” to them die.
Although one can never properly prepare themselves for the death
of a loved one no matter how much one tries to convince himself
otherwise.
I am hopeful when I pass that my two are at least engaged or
married having someone to share their grief while they come to
terms with my demise themselves. I know that my two are not
"babies or little ones", and my death will have a different
effect upon them as opposed to if they were young children. With
that said, it is not a painless task nonetheless, but it is one
undertaking that the survivors of the deceased must confront one
day, some way.
I cannot protect my two from the inevitable pain of the loss,
the pain of loosing me, their mother. I don’t want them to feel
destroyed in the world as a result of my passing nor do I want
them to suffer with guilt for what they should or should not
have done where I was concerned.
The bitter realization for me is that some things in life are
foreseeably unavoidable. I have protected my children from many
obstacles and hurts in life, it may very well be their
misfortune that I cannot shield them from this one and THIS is
why For THEM I Cry.
© 2005 by C. V. Harris. All rights reserved.