My best and hopeful wish of wishes was to do something the the best in life. To find out something worth knowing. Something universal that could be appreciated in terms of understanding as well as in terms of doing. Since the nature of the universe is that nothing lasts. That all great efforts are met by great destruction and are summarily erased as if they had never ever existed. I come to find this viewpoint a sort of pet folly, an indulgence. Something that when you sit back at the end of the day your realize is an impossible dream. Something that you must be mad to take up to begin with. But you must be equally obsessed to never want to give up. One thing that I got from being my father’s son is that no matter what, you don’t quit! There were plenty of times when I did quit when I was younger. But I got out of the habit as I reached maturity in my latter years. Maybe you run out of steam, that’s true. But you never lose the thread somehow. You always are looking forward to the next day. Which in truth, may be no different than the day you went through today? But occasionally you find something that makes it all worthwhile.
What else can you ask for?
As terrible as it is to lose that heavy shadow of your own father as a beacon to fight against or attempt to crawl out from under. There is no better person in the world to spend hard times with when everything seems lost than with your mother. I sometimes think that in so many ways one gets more of their courage from their mother? More than you can ever find within those bits and pieces that your father leaves in his wake at a distance. That distance that is irredeemable due to circumstance beyond the control of the both of you. During all those old times in hindsight, when you might have been able to arrange a parley to sit down with your father and get to know him as a man. It always turns out to be that one fond wish that you would have had the presence of mind to take the opportunity to fulfill.
Your mother however being always there, ready and available out of a matter of biology. Even in her latter years. A quality that never seems to wane but seems to grow ever stronger and refine itself. You become her recreation in the way as an object retaining an untarnishable aura being the ultimate life’s work of her pride and joy. There is no one else in those times of unbearable crisis better to be sequestered with. No one better than your mother to take care of in those waning times. To sit with and recount all those past tense misadventures and follies of your father as a fellow audience member recounting all the moments of your shared unwritten legacy. Who, though by now is long gone by,still seems always with you in the room.
Bereft of both now for half a decade, laying here, right now, I must say that though one can easily be struck by the grief of their loss, somehow one never feels alone. Perhaps because you acquire a greater faith in the continuum of life itself being assured that it will go on somehow without your minor interruption. Yet, thank God for all the years lived! And it is hard to have sorrow if at this point all the rest left should all go away.