I have cried an untold of amount of tears over the loss of my mother. Just the other day I was downloading some of her favorite Southern Gospel music and a flood of emotions washed over me. I haven’t cried like that for her in quite some time.
As I was experiencing these strong feelings for her, I noticed something else. It seemed like I was grieving more for Mother than I was for Daddy. It just felt different. Last night, I began thinking again about the differences in the relationships that I had with each one.
Mother was passive, tender, sensitive and a worrier. Daddy was aggressive, domineering and sensitive in a way that was different from Mother. What I mean is, is if someone done or said something he didn’t like, he would want to get back at them. At least he was like this earlier in life when Mother was still living. Actually, Daddy would go through phases. Sometimes he was like this and sometimes not. Even living in the nursing home he would have these spells.
As I’ve mentioned before, Daddy suffered from Bipolar Disorder. But does that give a person an excuse to physically and verbally abuse people? Well, maybe an excuse but not a right. Should I look at it like there were times in his life when he couldn’t help it? Such as when we were children?
My sister and I looked at this differently. At least for a while. I seen it as something that I deserved, but later I began to think about it in a different way.
Apparently, later in life, Daddy didn’t think we deserved it either. He cried a lot over it and asked our forgiveness. I said I forgave him, but deep down I don’t think I did. I know at least one time I just spoke the words without any meaning. They just seemed the right thing to say given the frame of mind he was in. Now that he’s gone, sometimes it seems like it’s easier to forgive him. It would be better if I could forgive him now. It would help me cope with and heal from the grief.
To me, that seems selfish. Just wanting to forgive Daddy for my benefit. As I write this, I’m struggling with my emotions and thoughts.
I don’t even know if I truly loved my parents. At the end of every visit to their house, I would hug Mother bye and kiss her. She would always say, “I love you.” I would just turn away and walk out the door. I know this sounds like I was cold and perhaps I was, but telling Mother that I loved her would feel like a lie.
I believe “love” is more than an emotion. It’s more than just a “warm, fuzzy feeling” you have toward someone. As the country singer Clint Black says, “Love isn’t something that we are, it’s something that we do”. I believe when you love someone, you give part of yourself to that person. I’m not talking just about romantic love. I’m also talking about giving yourself to or doing things for your parents, siblings, friends or even complete strangers.
When I done things for my parents, it wasn’t out of love. It was more out of duty or because I felt I had to do it. A large part of the time when Mother would ask me to do something, I would raise h*ll about it. What grief I gave her!
Later, I did start tell Mother that I loved her. Once again, this was more out of duty. I began asking myself, “What if something happened to one of us and I didn’t tell Mother that I loved her?”
After Mother died, Daddy’s personality seemed to change somewhat. Especially after he went in the nursing home, there were times when he became passive and more dependent. More like Mother was. I would lose my temper with him. The only good thing that I can think of now is that somehow I learned to be more patient with him.
Right now, my heart cries out in opposition to what I done back then.
I know there are people, such as my mother, who would disagree with what I’ve said about not loving my parents. But this is just the way I personally see it.
