posted on Jan, 9 2013 @ 06:40 PM
Rita was my mother. She passed late last century. She was seventy-three years old. She was an unhappy person who didn't love herself and,
therefore, couldn't stand to be alone. She didn't even know who she was. Rita didn't love others because she didn't know how to love herself.
Rita was a stress case and it runs on her side of the family. I have some of that in me and sometimes I resent it. I know I shouldn't resent it as
that just hurts me. It has no effect on her buried bones. My problem is I'm still living in the past and perhaps writing this will help me.
Rita seemed pleasant enough when I was a small child. She was a stay at home mom so we spent a great deal of time together. She was fascinated with
the houses I made with Lincoln Logs when I was three and four. Why didn't I become a builder of houses?
I didn't start this sentence with my mother's name. Anyway, Rita felt I was smart and she was proud of her little man. I was smart. I was good with
puzzles. I enjoyed reading at a young age. Life was wonderful. My mother was my world. My dad was truly awesome too.
At age five I went to kindergarten. It was just down the street. My mother walked me to school in the morning and my dad picked me up at his lunch
time. Kindergarten was a half day. I remember it being fun. Afternoons were still for amusing myself with life's cool "stuff."
Life's cool stuff! It seems we grow up and forget how cool stuff is. The stuff didn't stop getting cool. We just grew up. Growing up has its down
side. Anyway, my brother got cancer when he was young and I was younger. My brother was the oldest and the first boy. He died.
I became the youngest of three instead of four. I remember I was given two weeks of school off. How kind. I now had just my two older sisters. The
night my brother died was the only time I ever saw my father cry. I learned later in life that he felt guilty. Like he was being punished.
Punished? That was a different generation plus he was a serious Catholic. The big Catholic guilt can attack true Catholics just about anywhere. I
don't believe in the nasty god of the Old Testament. God does not punish. I know this now. I wish I could have discussed it with my dad.
edit on 9-1-2013 by Texture because: (no reason given)