0bservations from an almost 50 year old mother to 3 sons in their late twenties. . . Journaled in June of 1980—— now an aged, almost 91 mother with a very tired head and a compromised immune system sporting a half dozen conditions ready for a nap . . . May, 2022
As a mother, it never occurred to me to ask them if their homework was done. That was their responsibility.
They never asked if the laundry was done. That was my responsibility.
Clothes were never a priory with me. The boys wore long or short sleeve jerseys with khaki pants. So if they went missing and the police were called, I would not appear dim but could tell them what they wore. Not the colors, but the cut of the cloth.
I remember always their joys, their agonies and their laughter and talks. Memories are the bridge to the futures of progeny. Best we clean up memories before they begin to leak into futures.
Of recent times we shy away from pulling up a chair to listen to a friend’s or beloveds concerns lest we be practicing medicine without a license. Mostly it is because we are at a loss because of time or just don’t want the involvement. And it costs to become emotionally involved with an Other. Not only does one share the agonies, but one must confront oneself. ( ( true then, sounds like work? It is. . ))
There is a superficial comfort to be gained by psychologically labeling a loved one’s problems. It relieves one of responsibility to help solve the problem. Or just pretending it does not exist.
A time before television came into our homes and stole our prime time evenings, we had time to sit and chat with a beloved and share ourselves which helped alleviate the explosion of a problem and contained it within the concerns of two who shared hearts.
Because the burden was halved it did not erupt and was virtue of love salved with its healing ointment. A differing perspective was heeded and shown an avenue that shared concerns absolved. Such was the healing proffered by neighbors and beloveds before the technology invaded lives and took from humans the responsibilities and privileges of being humane.
The pendulum of progress will find its balance but we must seek it. ((I do not wish to give up my library at hand always with my computer. Nor do I wish to whiteout the typos my numbing fingers display with earnest and sincere desire for professional work. Each must draw the lines for ourselves.)) Our respect and love for humanity must be our first concern.
With rising costs for counseling and medical services, it behooves all of us to render what we once considered our blessed obligation, to serve one another. Isolation compounds problems into catastrophes. We are wise to know which ones we cannot handle. But drama is what families are about and as life complicates itself and us, we must again protect prime time for people whose needs are prime.
I Take Your Hand . . .
Come, I take your hand.
We go to places where
our hearts share dreams.
Sometime back, in histories
having no years,
we trod places where paths
had not been worn.
It was a good time,
seeing how we formed lives
with no lesson plans,
loved with no time
and lived fully aware.
We remember now
when the hands of the clocks
tell us we have only so much time;
only so much to check emails,
to see bank statements,
and to note how many Likes
from those we don’t know.
And only so much time
before the next commercial break
and then we might have time
to love one another?
September 2016
artwork by
Claudia Hallissey
((comments edited by VRH))