Good morning, Netizens...

There is hardly a morning that rises on its delicate gray feet but what I ponder my Mother but in ways far different than most. While most men and women of my generation have well-established relationships with their mothers and fathers, due to circumstances beyond my control, neither my mother nor my father and I had good relationships. One of the first things my wife, who happens to be a good mother coming from a long history of insatiably-devoted mothers, noticed was that I possess neither pictures of my mother, father nor my three brothers.

Many years ago, I could consciously recall the face of my mother, but now, after her demise, even that is gone from my memory. Thanks to the efforts of my son, I do have a picture of her laying in her casket, having died of Altzheimers under the ostensibly watchful eyes of one of my brothers.

One of the first questions close personal friends have asked me is, “If you had your life to live all over again, would you change your relationship with your mother or father? Well, first I have never known my biological father, as that detail was kept hidden from me by Mom, Dad and my three brothers although they all knew his name. Second, my step-father was an abusive man to me, and seemed to harbor some considerable hostility toward me in particular. In retrospect, I have come to believe he and I both lived in our worlds of pain, yet neither of us capable of articulating how it all began or how to end it.

Thus I had no relationship with my mother like most normal kids I grew up with.

However, the only lessons I have learned from my fractured family life is that when anyone is severed from the love of their mothers, for whatever reason, the net result is a tragedy of incredible complexity riddled with sadness and pain. In my life I have seen several friends who were separated from their mothers, and each carried that terrible burden. In my present life, however, I have seen how adult kids still worship their mother, my wife.

Were it not for the undying love of my father's parents, who raised me and encouraged me to be “a good man always”, and my late Uncle Bud who taught me how to survive despite all the flaws in his character that everyone in the family always warned me about, I do not know where I would be today, because in my younger years I was a good candidate for jail.

So for those of you who honor Mothers Day in act and thought, I encourage you to persevere, to stay the course, and to always honor your mothers by being the living embodiment of good mothers and fathers I never had.

Dave

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