Tuesday, 17 June 2014

Life lessons from my mother, who is dead

Don't read this unless you want to have weird feelings of desolation.

I've been having strange feelings, recently.

Specifically pertaining to families.

Whenever I see parents with their kids and they're smiling and having a good time, I just want to tell them to not get too attached to each other, one day you'll lose your daughter to boyfriends, work, friends, and activities and you'll be constantly disappointed because the person you devote 99% of your time to right now just won't want to spend time with you any more.

To the mothers, I beseech you to raise your children to lean on themselves, not on you, because when they have learned to do that is when you know they have become truly strong. When you know for sure that they'll be okay without you, that's when you can be certain that you have done your job as a parent.

And to the daughters, I warn you not to depend on your mother for anything except life lessons, and make sure you learn them and well, because one day you'll lose her and be broken and alone, and most of all, lonely, because you'll grow up too quickly to realize she was the only one person that was there for you all along.

To the fathers, I want to tell you not to hold your daughters' hands so tightly, because you'll be looking at that hand, the fingers of which used to wrap around your forefinger so trustingly, and wonder when did you entrust that hand into the care of another boy. And every time you have a mental image of them doing the sweaty horizontal tango, you have the urge to kill. Give your son advice on girls instead of not letting them date, because they'll do it with or without your permission. And I'm sure they could really use your help.

To the son, I want to tell you to learn to do your laundry. Wash dishes. Learn to make simple meals. And that independence and free-spiritedness that you want all chicks to believe you have in the future? It diminishes greatly if you're always running a load of your socks to your mum's to be washed. Also, your dad knows more than you give him credit for about girls. He got your mum to have his babies, after all.

Wtf, came here intending to type a sentence or two and ended up rambling on for five paragraphs. I was just thinking about this dream I had about my mother about four or five months after her death. We were sitting at our dining table having a cup of tea, and I asked her, "How will I do it?" And she said, "How will you do what?". I replied, "How will I go on without you?" And she just looked at me for some moments, and finally said, "Oh, honey. All my life, I had hoped that I had raised you well enough; that you would never have to ask that question."


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