Guilty Reflections?
by
Dick Prosapio © 2004
Upon hearing that my mother died earlier this year
people usually say to me, "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that." And I
say, in an attempt to escape being felt sorry for, "It was really
OK.for the best. She had almost made 91 and she went quickly and
easily."
And I don't feel bad about saying that. But the
other night I added, "And it was a relief for everyone."
I immediately felt guilty.
Upon exploration and reflection I find that what
was triggering this feeling was the old what-will-people-think-of-me
now? a response I've experienced most of my life; kid to adult. And
of course, the real question is, what do I think of myself?
Writing helps me process such "stuff" and I put it
all out into the world not only in order to unburden my soul, but
also to connect with anyone else who would feel alone and
isolated.and judged, because they might respond in the same way and
for the same reasons.
What I then discovered as I journeyed through this
was; one, I was glad she didn't have to go through some long,
terrible debilitating illness, becoming more and more dependent upon
others, which she would have hated with all her spirit. And, two,
this is the part I didn't want to say but surely felt, I didn't want
to feel guilty and frustrated having to take care of her from afar
or, worse, near, as my sister was beginning to have to do, while she
slowly became less capable of taking care of herself.
And last, but by no means least, I was tired of
being the knight-in-shining-armor son who always defended and rode
to the rescue of my mother. Sometimes defending her difficult
personality, sometimes protecting others from her. With her death
that lifelong task was lifted from me and that was no small burden
to carry believe me.
So, my response was an honest one on all these
levels, but not as self-sacrificing as some part of me would have me
believe. After all, I was raised, by women, to be a "good boy". All
I was doing was playing out the "script".
There's another element at play here too. I feel
closer to death then I have ever been before. Not in some maudlin,
depressive way, I just sense the inevitability of it for myself and
this causes two responses in me. One, I try, very consciously, to
appreciate each precious moment of life as it presents itself. Each
breath, each snowflake that falls, each call of a bird, and most
recently, each sparkle in the eye that I see in my kids, each close
moment with my wife.
And the second thing is, I am moving closer and
closer to the idea that there is a spiritual existence that
parallels our human lives and I think we enter that other world when
we leave this one. Not the "Heaven" we have been told we must
struggle through the life maze to reach. Something much more
mysterious and, at the same time, more pragmatic than that.
Of course, I also know that this may be a complete
fiction that I am embracing in order to deal with my reluctance to
become as extinct as the saber tooth tiger, but I can't deny that it
is a possibility. In fact, I am beginning to suspect, because of
some very curious experiences I've had in the past twenty years,
that there is something to this after life thing.
But that's another story. Right now all I'm
interested in is forgiving myself for not feeling terribly bad that
my mother has died.
By the way, I must add, I do miss her presence in
my life now and then without a doubt. She was a kind of information
source for our past together. But I really expected more suffering
on my part. I guess it's the fact that I experience very little, I
pause short of saying "none", that I find suspect in me. I guess I'm
not quite as good a "good boy" as I thought. Damn these character
flawsthey will not allow this human to rest until they are all set
right.
And that will probably take a lifetime won't it?
Dick Prosapio ©2004, All Rights
Reserved
