Today would have been my father’s 90th birthday. He passed away ten years ago. My mom passed away just a little over a year ago. I had strained relationships with both of them, but as time goes by, I realize that there was a huge difference between them.
Both my parents made mistakes and did the best that they could. Both of them were never going to talk to me about it or reconcile with me. I can and have forgiven both of them.
I don’t remember the last words I said to my mom. I don’t remember the last time I saw her. I know I loved her and that she loved me, but I don’t think she believed anyone ever really loved her.
I do remember the last words I said to my dad. We told each other I love you. The last time I saw him was in a hospital bed as my husband and I were leaving him for the night. I know I loved him and that he loved me, but most importantly, I know he knew I loved him. Although my mom tried several times to convince me otherwise.
I would love to take things from my mother and believe that they helped form me into the person that I am, but all the lies, manipulations, and gaslighting are the things I remember now. I am grateful because they did shape into who I am. I believe I am a stronger person, and I can get through just about anything because of it. However, there’s no special sweet memory because it’s all tainted with deceit. More than anything, I just don’t want to be who she was. I don’t want to get to my death day believing that no one could ever love me.
For my father, I find that all the bad stuff just sort of floats away. It’s like it doesn’t really matter anymore. I just keep remembering his face, how he would tell all these crazy stories, and how much he loved maple crème cookies. Every day without warning I see him in me. I talk like he does. I like the same food. I write stories the way he would tell stories. I love to read about ancient civilizations the way he did. I never wanted to try to be like him, but I find every day that I am very much my father’s daughter. And I am proud to be his daughter.
When my mother was alive, I struggled so much with the commandment of honoring your mother and father. However, I really do think that showing an understanding of who they were, understanding what they did, forgiving the mistakes, and being proud of what they gave me honors them. They weren’t perfect. No parents are. They tried their best. That’s all anyone could ask for.
My faith saved me. May God’s peace reside in all of our hearts.
