I Am Different Since My Mother Died
I guess it would seem weird for me to write this, if I were younger and less thoughtful, as, at least that's what I learned I was. My mother passed away on October 6, 2007. I was expecting to receive the call. Prior to her succumbing she had had a stroke. Although she was a tough woman and full of life, she must have sensed her time was coming too. Because she fought us all with everything she had to keep us from letting her go to a nursing home. The reason she went there was not that we didn't love and care about her, but it was because she deserved the attention that she needed from a professional staff that they had had there in the home, while we all went about, attending to the lives we lived. Plus, none of us were ever trained in a medicinal quality of service, wherewith the home also had these professionals over her care. but, when she went there, she gave up. Just a few days later she was gone.
Mother really never seen my life amount to anything. Although she was proud of me for having been sober over 15 years at the time of her death. She always worried about me..."Oh, Albert!" I still hear from her voice when she wants to be insistent. Other wise she was usually the only one who called me, Al. In fact, I didn't realize it until she passed on, how much Al always gained my attention more than Albert did. That's one reason today I always use Al in reference to my name. It helps me to remember how much my mother really cared for me. Because it wasn't until I told her that I hated the name of Albert that it was then she called me Al, and not Albert.
I guess that's what Mothers can do. They know how to make you feel comfortable with yourself, even if you don't do it for yourself. But that's not at all where her qualities stopped. As a young child our family found me passed out behind our home. At this time we lived in an area where the surroundings behind our home was, to a small child anyway, a very wild-wood environment. I had passed out due to an allergy which later was diagnosed as hey-fever.
After this, she protected me throughout my life. Making sure I didn't go into harms way for fear I might pass out again. Which made me quite the character to those I could be one to, and if I was in trouble, mother could always handle the turf of it all, and I would go on with my shenanigans.
When she died the priest that officiated over her funeral was the same priest we had while I was growing up. And, you know? The priest gets to meet the whole family once again, as he sits there in the funeral home's parlor while viewing of the deceased is going on.
Hehehe, when I came up to him, as the family was surrounded reminiscing about the good old days I heard one of my siblings say, Father, Grendler, this is Albert. Do you remember him? I look into his eyes, he looks into mine. We shake hands. But he didn't hesitate. "Oh, yes, I remember him. You were the brat of the bunch. LOL, (though I wasn't laughing then) I didn't ever think of myself as a brat. But I don't remember. It haunted me for the next 2 years. Was I really a brat, God, I'd ask myself? So, since then, I've kept the life of my mother, and or father, and anyone I love inside my heart, and never again to be a brat, if indeed I was one.
But, especially as a dedication to my mother. Because she always made me feel like the person I am today. She always made sure that I had my needs taken care of, and that whenever I did need something, she was always there to do for me what it was that was needed, if she could.
Prior to her passing on she didn't really get to see that much of me, but when she could, she would call me or write me, just to make sure I was doing okay. This was all because I had left home at the age of 16, went into the armed forces at 17, and from there I drifted around the country trying to 'find' myself. So, with all the trouble she endured through me, it was my turn to give something to her. But, what could I give, now that she had gone on?
I could give to her the part of my heart I've never been able to do. A solemn promise to always keep her 'ways' in my mind with myself always using Al instead of Albert. It slows me down a bit, and helps me think. "Al, you only have one life to live, make it count".
Mother really never seen my life amount to anything. Although she was proud of me for having been sober over 15 years at the time of her death. She always worried about me..."Oh, Albert!" I still hear from her voice when she wants to be insistent. Other wise she was usually the only one who called me, Al. In fact, I didn't realize it until she passed on, how much Al always gained my attention more than Albert did. That's one reason today I always use Al in reference to my name. It helps me to remember how much my mother really cared for me. Because it wasn't until I told her that I hated the name of Albert that it was then she called me Al, and not Albert.
I guess that's what Mothers can do. They know how to make you feel comfortable with yourself, even if you don't do it for yourself. But that's not at all where her qualities stopped. As a young child our family found me passed out behind our home. At this time we lived in an area where the surroundings behind our home was, to a small child anyway, a very wild-wood environment. I had passed out due to an allergy which later was diagnosed as hey-fever.
After this, she protected me throughout my life. Making sure I didn't go into harms way for fear I might pass out again. Which made me quite the character to those I could be one to, and if I was in trouble, mother could always handle the turf of it all, and I would go on with my shenanigans.
When she died the priest that officiated over her funeral was the same priest we had while I was growing up. And, you know? The priest gets to meet the whole family once again, as he sits there in the funeral home's parlor while viewing of the deceased is going on.
Hehehe, when I came up to him, as the family was surrounded reminiscing about the good old days I heard one of my siblings say, Father, Grendler, this is Albert. Do you remember him? I look into his eyes, he looks into mine. We shake hands. But he didn't hesitate. "Oh, yes, I remember him. You were the brat of the bunch. LOL, (though I wasn't laughing then) I didn't ever think of myself as a brat. But I don't remember. It haunted me for the next 2 years. Was I really a brat, God, I'd ask myself? So, since then, I've kept the life of my mother, and or father, and anyone I love inside my heart, and never again to be a brat, if indeed I was one.
But, especially as a dedication to my mother. Because she always made me feel like the person I am today. She always made sure that I had my needs taken care of, and that whenever I did need something, she was always there to do for me what it was that was needed, if she could.
Prior to her passing on she didn't really get to see that much of me, but when she could, she would call me or write me, just to make sure I was doing okay. This was all because I had left home at the age of 16, went into the armed forces at 17, and from there I drifted around the country trying to 'find' myself. So, with all the trouble she endured through me, it was my turn to give something to her. But, what could I give, now that she had gone on?
I could give to her the part of my heart I've never been able to do. A solemn promise to always keep her 'ways' in my mind with myself always using Al instead of Albert. It slows me down a bit, and helps me think. "Al, you only have one life to live, make it count".
By:
deleted
Age:
26-30
