Good Morning Mom,
I'm sorry I have to write, but well, you know. First off, let me just start by saying I miss you. It's cliche to say I think about you every day, but I do. I didn't think this would be true, but it is. Times have been rough for me lately and your absence makes me realize that you were always the person I confided in most. I trusted you, even when I disagreed. You weren't always right and quick to admit it. I'm still learning that one. I'm a little lost right now, so I'm sending you this message, in the hopes that this blog, which you'd have printed out for some odd reason, will work as some sort of catharsis.
You've missed a lot. Some wonderful, some not so good. You'd be furious at Dad for how he and I are now. You'd ask me to be the bigger man, as you always did, but I can't this time. You know my limits. Owen and I don't speak often, but more because he is who he is and I am who I am. Had you stuck around, we'd all be together I think we all know this to be true. You have two beautiful grandchildren who had you ever the privilege of meeting, I know they'd be spoiled rotten. Sure you'd drive your youngest and his wife insane, but they'd know it was done out of love. It pains me to think you never got to meet them. I know all you ever wanted was the opportunity to spoil your grandchildren as your parents spoiled us. I wish I could take up the mantle. It actually hurts how little I've done for them.
Recently, I have often thought about all the what-ifs in life. Over the past five years, I've struggled emotionally, not because of what I've had to endure, but in knowing that with full knowledge of how life would have treated me, I would not have changed a thing about my choices when you were sick. Please know this is not some postmortem guilt trip, but the others, from top to bottom still don't realize how little their lives changed in comparison. I know you know and that conversation two days before you left is one I revisit often. I only wish I knew how unhappy you were. I will never have the strength you have to keep it in. The funny thing looking back is how I thought you let it all show, which only makes me realize how much pain there was inside. It's taken me almost forty-nine years to understand how simply not being acknowledged is the worst pain of all.
I have spent a lot of time thinking about how you'd view me today. I think you'd be proud of who I am as a man, but let down by how little I've achieved. I think you'd praise my selflessness, but demand I ask more for myself. You would still lecture me on the metaphorical walls I put up and comfort me in knowing there is still time. I will never know your inner strength and as I've aged and lost my physical strength, I'm starting to understand how fragile we are. I will never forget the juxtaposition of your physical appearance and your mental appearance. I don't even know if that's the correct word, but if nothing else, I learned the danger of judging those by what I see. I think of all the things I was taught by you and I feel as though I'm still haven't fully learned. I have not always been able to take what I know and put it to good use. You compromised more than anyone I've ever known and that's something I'm still not comfortable with. I know you did more for others on any given day than you ever did for yourself in a lifetime. I wish I knew why. You preached about putting myself first, yet never took your own advice. I'm still trying, but at times, I realize I'm still selfish.
It's been way too long since I've seen you and each day has been the same. No worse, no better. Time does not, in fact, heal all wounds. I think you'd be surprised by where I am. Living with strangers, mostly in solitude. My companionship, for the most part, consists of a cat and a computer. I still carry one unwanted gift you gave me during your illness and that is insomnia. I guess maybe you taught me that being tired is for other people. I just wish I had your do anything to survive mindset. I know it's silly, but I think you'd like the cat. I call him Swag, but his given name is Vermeer, after the Dutch painter. I know he's like you. All the cats loved you and I remember Goku protecting you as you healed from surgery, almost letting us all know when you were better. Better? That word alone changed for me. Better will never mean well, it will simply mean improved from dire. I often tell people of your six-month sentence and how it stretched over four years. Four painful years, but ones you had to survive. I'm still sorry you weren't strong enough to attend Owen's graduation. I'm also sorry, I never gave you the honor of having one for myself.
Last night, before I went to sleep, the clock read 11:55 and I thought about the moments when I walked in to see you breathing heavily, about this time fifteen years ago. I think about the few moments spent alone after you'd passed and the feeling of relief I felt for you, but the sadness that our goodnight was the final one. For the first time in my life, I didn't have any words that fit the situation, so I just held your hand and kissed you on the forehead, like you did, even as an adult, to say goodnight, but for me, it was saying goodbye. I miss you mom, as much today as I did that morning fifteen years ago when I knew I'd have to do this alone. Please know that no matter how much we disagreed or argued, I loved you more than anyone on this Earth and still do today. Each day I wonder how many of us have survived without you and when I look at it all, I don't think we really have. You were the glue, as your parents were before you. I think you'll love the irony, but my grandmother, no the other one, made it very clear that you were the one that kept us together. She loved to pester you, but she also respected you much more than she ever let you see. She almost embarrassed Dad with how much credit she gave you and how little she gave him when it came to who Owen, but especially I became. Towards her last days, on a moment of great frustration on her part, she said: "You're just like your mother." I don't think anyone has said anything that made me feel more pride than I did that day.
I love you.
Jona
I'm sorry I have to write, but well, you know. First off, let me just start by saying I miss you. It's cliche to say I think about you every day, but I do. I didn't think this would be true, but it is. Times have been rough for me lately and your absence makes me realize that you were always the person I confided in most. I trusted you, even when I disagreed. You weren't always right and quick to admit it. I'm still learning that one. I'm a little lost right now, so I'm sending you this message, in the hopes that this blog, which you'd have printed out for some odd reason, will work as some sort of catharsis.
You've missed a lot. Some wonderful, some not so good. You'd be furious at Dad for how he and I are now. You'd ask me to be the bigger man, as you always did, but I can't this time. You know my limits. Owen and I don't speak often, but more because he is who he is and I am who I am. Had you stuck around, we'd all be together I think we all know this to be true. You have two beautiful grandchildren who had you ever the privilege of meeting, I know they'd be spoiled rotten. Sure you'd drive your youngest and his wife insane, but they'd know it was done out of love. It pains me to think you never got to meet them. I know all you ever wanted was the opportunity to spoil your grandchildren as your parents spoiled us. I wish I could take up the mantle. It actually hurts how little I've done for them.
Recently, I have often thought about all the what-ifs in life. Over the past five years, I've struggled emotionally, not because of what I've had to endure, but in knowing that with full knowledge of how life would have treated me, I would not have changed a thing about my choices when you were sick. Please know this is not some postmortem guilt trip, but the others, from top to bottom still don't realize how little their lives changed in comparison. I know you know and that conversation two days before you left is one I revisit often. I only wish I knew how unhappy you were. I will never have the strength you have to keep it in. The funny thing looking back is how I thought you let it all show, which only makes me realize how much pain there was inside. It's taken me almost forty-nine years to understand how simply not being acknowledged is the worst pain of all.
I have spent a lot of time thinking about how you'd view me today. I think you'd be proud of who I am as a man, but let down by how little I've achieved. I think you'd praise my selflessness, but demand I ask more for myself. You would still lecture me on the metaphorical walls I put up and comfort me in knowing there is still time. I will never know your inner strength and as I've aged and lost my physical strength, I'm starting to understand how fragile we are. I will never forget the juxtaposition of your physical appearance and your mental appearance. I don't even know if that's the correct word, but if nothing else, I learned the danger of judging those by what I see. I think of all the things I was taught by you and I feel as though I'm still haven't fully learned. I have not always been able to take what I know and put it to good use. You compromised more than anyone I've ever known and that's something I'm still not comfortable with. I know you did more for others on any given day than you ever did for yourself in a lifetime. I wish I knew why. You preached about putting myself first, yet never took your own advice. I'm still trying, but at times, I realize I'm still selfish.
It's been way too long since I've seen you and each day has been the same. No worse, no better. Time does not, in fact, heal all wounds. I think you'd be surprised by where I am. Living with strangers, mostly in solitude. My companionship, for the most part, consists of a cat and a computer. I still carry one unwanted gift you gave me during your illness and that is insomnia. I guess maybe you taught me that being tired is for other people. I just wish I had your do anything to survive mindset. I know it's silly, but I think you'd like the cat. I call him Swag, but his given name is Vermeer, after the Dutch painter. I know he's like you. All the cats loved you and I remember Goku protecting you as you healed from surgery, almost letting us all know when you were better. Better? That word alone changed for me. Better will never mean well, it will simply mean improved from dire. I often tell people of your six-month sentence and how it stretched over four years. Four painful years, but ones you had to survive. I'm still sorry you weren't strong enough to attend Owen's graduation. I'm also sorry, I never gave you the honor of having one for myself.
Last night, before I went to sleep, the clock read 11:55 and I thought about the moments when I walked in to see you breathing heavily, about this time fifteen years ago. I think about the few moments spent alone after you'd passed and the feeling of relief I felt for you, but the sadness that our goodnight was the final one. For the first time in my life, I didn't have any words that fit the situation, so I just held your hand and kissed you on the forehead, like you did, even as an adult, to say goodnight, but for me, it was saying goodbye. I miss you mom, as much today as I did that morning fifteen years ago when I knew I'd have to do this alone. Please know that no matter how much we disagreed or argued, I loved you more than anyone on this Earth and still do today. Each day I wonder how many of us have survived without you and when I look at it all, I don't think we really have. You were the glue, as your parents were before you. I think you'll love the irony, but my grandmother, no the other one, made it very clear that you were the one that kept us together. She loved to pester you, but she also respected you much more than she ever let you see. She almost embarrassed Dad with how much credit she gave you and how little she gave him when it came to who Owen, but especially I became. Towards her last days, on a moment of great frustration on her part, she said: "You're just like your mother." I don't think anyone has said anything that made me feel more pride than I did that day.
I love you.
Jona
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