Today is Mother's Day - my second since Greg died. Last year was hard. This year is harder. A lot has happened since last year - cancer - a life-changing fall - a spirit-crushing experience with someone who owns a large part of my heart. It's been a spiritual valley that challenges my willingness (and ability) to fight on.
Greg was great at remembering Mother's Day. He chose a card carefully, happily came to visit and spend time - and often brought one or more of his children with him. I could count on him. I knew he would come. I knew that he came because he loved me - because I was a joy in his life - not a duty (although doing something because it's a duty is not to be underrated - or underappreciated)
I loved his company. I loved his mind - and even more, I loved his heart. He was my counsel - my problem solver - my friend - my heart - my son. I loved seeing his truck in the driveway. Strangely enough, he appeared to to enjoy my company as much as I enjoyed his. I saw him and/or heard from him often. I miss the calls. I miss his visits. I miss my son.
The last two years before Greg died were hard. He accused me of hacking into his phone - of sabotaging his life in more ways than I can count. Because I always told him the truth, you could see and feel the conflict between what he thought was happening and what I told him. His reality was so skewed by drugs that his daily existence was painful beyond measure. I wanted to help. I tried to help. I wasn't able to help.
On Mother's Day (and every day) I remember it all.
Greg was great at remembering Mother's Day. He chose a card carefully, happily came to visit and spend time - and often brought one or more of his children with him. I could count on him. I knew he would come. I knew that he came because he loved me - because I was a joy in his life - not a duty (although doing something because it's a duty is not to be underrated - or underappreciated)
I loved his company. I loved his mind - and even more, I loved his heart. He was my counsel - my problem solver - my friend - my heart - my son. I loved seeing his truck in the driveway. Strangely enough, he appeared to to enjoy my company as much as I enjoyed his. I saw him and/or heard from him often. I miss the calls. I miss his visits. I miss my son.
The last two years before Greg died were hard. He accused me of hacking into his phone - of sabotaging his life in more ways than I can count. Because I always told him the truth, you could see and feel the conflict between what he thought was happening and what I told him. His reality was so skewed by drugs that his daily existence was painful beyond measure. I wanted to help. I tried to help. I wasn't able to help.
On Mother's Day (and every day) I remember it all.
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