As far as I can tell based on my limited experience (if I am, in fact, the reincarnation of some Middle Ages noble like that psychic on Kirby told me just before she cleansed me of his evil deeds for a nice chunk of drunken change, well I don’t remember it), if in a lifetime you can fill up a hand or two with people who care for you and have your back for the right reasons, you’ve done well. Most folks could work a sawmill for a century or so and not run out of fingers.
On the other hand, most folks start out with one person squarely in their corner.
My mother didn’t always understand me. She surely had high expectations for me. But she loved me, and, at least when the chips were down, she had my back. I didn’t always recognize this at the time, but years without her have taught me the value of an ally. Joni Mitchell was right. Almost everyone loves their mother. Almost every orphan loves their mother a lot.
My mother also, more than anyone else, made me who I am– the good and the bad. For sure, my fear of debt and need for self-sufficiency come directly from her. As I got older and realized how many viewpoints I share with her, it was alarming. Surely, I wasn’t turning into what my teenage self vowed to avoid. The older I get, however, the more I realize it’s OK. She knew a lot more than I thought she did. And I know a lot less than I act like I do.
Young folks dread growing up and becoming their parents. Old folks hope they do.
As Mother’s Day approached, I found myself listening to this song a lot.
Call your mamma sometimes
She misses you
She can’t help she’s all alone
Stay away from all that whiskey
But don’t stay away from home
Hug ’em if you got ’em. I miss my mother.