Something About Mother's Day...

I remember a time when my mother could have sung this song to my father. Richard--the name of a king--spent most of his adult life showing himself an emotional pauper. His relationship with my mother deteriorated years ago to the point that she decided to think of him as a silly younger brother so that she could "keep from hurting him." Did he learn from the almost poetic sadness of Mom's decision? No, he did not. In fact, he continued to have horribly wrecked relationships (including a marriage that blessed me with Nicole and Nicholas aka "Twin Terrors"--my youngest brother and sister) until he died at the ripe old age of 38.

That was not a typo. My father ascended (or descended, if you know his life's uglier moments and feel the negatives outweighed the positives) from this Earth one month after his 38th birthday. He was a man who could make a grand and entertaining entrance to any affair, and his exit was no less shocking: a simultaneous heart attack and massive stroke killed him before he landed on the kitchen floor face-down and alone. The pain he felt at the onset of the two-fold life-robbing attack was etched on his face; my last sight of him was a picture of his suffering (Funerals don't count. There, you see the mortician's handiwork alone; your loved one is replaced by a re-creation of the former masked in cake makeup and massaged facial features.). He was gone, and I was left holding his memory and all the anger of his sudden departure.

Mother's Day was beautiful. Father's Day is ahead. My thoughts will pass. Hmm...then what?