Remember watching this. Back in the day when everyone was innocent and all things were just rock and roll songs. The day he died, I was driving someone I cared a great deal about to a psychiatric hospital in another state. My grief over his death took a back seat to my immediate concern for that loved one. The hospitalization lasted for some time, and there was no time for grieving childhood idols. Michael's legacy is a troubling one. I do not know if he did what he has beenaccused of doing, but it looks likely that he was sexually inappropriate with young boys. To say Michael was the first victim does not minimize the pain he inflicted, if he did, indeed, inflict the sexually inappropriate acts on these young boys. Pedophilia is a sickness that destroys so many lives. It has been ten years. I remember my fear driving that night, a celebrity's death nowhere on my radar. I found out later that Farrah Fawcett died that same day. When we are in the midst of living, we do. We act. We go. We drive. We listen. We are fearful. We are hopeful. We are so very very very worried. All that being said, I do want to say that I felt Michael was my playmate many times as a child. I loved listening to him sing ABC and Rockin Robin. It took me away from my own pain.
I am the only one near my mother (geographically speaking), and I do not check on her. The reasons are filled with complicated nonsense, but it is what it is. Someone does check on her. I am glad you could be there for your parents, James. I think you are a better human than I am. I can't do it. Yet, I think of my mother when I hear this, and I think of me and how I am likely to be in that same place some day. I won't say bad karma coming back to get me because I know the deal. I would like to think I am fairly evolved but with miles to go before I sleep, but I can't do my mom. I can't. As long as I know someone is there, I can feel somewhat better about the dissonance and the guilt and shame. I really have nothing to feel guilty about though I have lived my entire life thinking that I do. Keeps me awake many nights. Wakes me up many nights. Destroys many moments of could-be happiness. I am still working on this. I may not get to any good place before she dies or I die, but it is not because I am not trying. I have a few friends who had a less than idyllic childhood who stepped up to the plate and cared for their ailing and dying parents I have great admiration for them, as I do for you for being there. I feel like you guys were able to overcome the adversity that I have not been able to do--me, with all of my social work and crisis years--me. I can't do it. Not yet. Maybe some day. I appreciate your thoughts, James, and what you were able to do for your aging parents.
Sometimes, it is so hard to think our parents failed us that we can't bring ourselves to say it. You may not feel that way. I feel that way, often. I try hard hard hard to think they did the best they could, and I think perhaps they did, but I can't know for certain. I can rationalize what they had to work with as they became parents, and I know some things about their lives as children. How do we fail our parents? By not being what they wanted us to be? By getting into trouble? By making bad decisions? By not being there to visit? I have to tell you that I feel I did everything I could do to "make" my mother love me. Make her love me. Make her love me. That is just the most ridiculous thought. Make her love me. I love my children. I have made so many mistakes, and I still do, but I love them. Unconditionally love them. Feel so incredibly grateful for their lives and presence and all they have given to me and to this life and to themselves. They are incredible people. I cannot imagine that one of them would ever have to say they did everything they could to make me love them. *sigh* My father was 13 years older than my mother. He was 32 and she was 19 when they married. My oldest brother was born 10 months after they married (57) and the rest of us were like this: 57, 58, 59, 62, 74. My father died 13 years ago this past April. He was kind to me but always on my mother's side. This is the way it goes. Some of us are more capable of handling the abuse. Some of us hold onto it like a stigmata through our palms, bringing up the pain over and over with scars that can't be seen. Some of us just can't move on. We are stuck, like the hamster in the proverbial wheel, running running running with nowhere to go. At one point in time, someone suggested that I have a blog to post these types of thoughts. I suppose they thought FB was not the place. I have a blog. I choose here and now. What are we if we can't be honest with our hearts? Trapped and sullen and morose and troubled. I choose to speak about my feelings this night. That is not always the case.
Totally off topic here but have to vent. If Molly does not quit licking, I'm going to lose my frigging mind! Arrrrgggghhhhhh! It is really getting on my nerves. We are doing everything we know to do except putting her in a collar, which I am going to have to do if she doesn't stop. It is driving me bonkers! She's on steroids, gabapentin, zyrtec, and Tussigon as needed. She has pulled her fur out with her teeth and chewed herself and created lick granulomas on every leg. This is the worst flare up ever! We could have a series of tests done to try to determine what she is allergic to, and then a serum would be created, and we would have to give it to her for several months at a tremendous expense. The vet keeps pushing Apoquel, but I tried it once and she started vomiting up blood. I don't feel good about trying it again. We don't bath her because that makes her skin drier even when using an oatmeal bath. Aye yi yi. I feel bad for her, but I don't know what to do. .You guys have heard all of this before. You know that Molly goes through this every fall and every spring. I know it will pass, but I sure need some patience right now. I have had it!