I once heard on NPR a story read by a writer, a woman from
the south, who spoke of having several siblings and a mother who had not been
nice at all.
The mother lived with one offspring, then another.
The narrator was on her way to pick up her mother , to live with her for awhile, and was staying overnight at her brother's.
This sibling was single, and the mother did not call him by his name, but instead had for years called him some derogatory name , referring constantly to his ‘worthless’ singlehood.
As the sister and brother were having a glass of wine that evening, the mother called down from upstairs, distressed , due to a toenail on her foot that bothered her.
And so the son went up, trimmed the nail carefully, and helped his mother to bed, returning downstairs to finish sitting with his sister.
At that moment, the narrator realized that her mother had never been cared for . She had never ever been cared for the way she was cared for now, in old age. Had never been as peaceful; never as happy.
Not that she was easy to live with. Not that she was civil, or kind.
Yet, the offspring had managed to give their mother
that which she had been unable to provide for them.
That which she had never received, herself.
Many of us learn how to do this, as we grow older.
To provide for ourselves that which we were not provided with.
To provide for our parents or our children or cared ones that which we
had never received.
Sometimes, we are blessed with a friend, or a partner, or an offspring, or even a parent, who does provide these things. Love. Patience. Caring. Nourishment.
These are not a given in life; not for an ant or a bear or a tree or a person, nor you or I.
Instead, they are a blessing. A gift of such import, whether we learn to create caring ourselves, or have the grace to be the lucky beneficiaries.
The mother lived with one offspring, then another.
The narrator was on her way to pick up her mother , to live with her for awhile, and was staying overnight at her brother's.
This sibling was single, and the mother did not call him by his name, but instead had for years called him some derogatory name , referring constantly to his ‘worthless’ singlehood.
As the sister and brother were having a glass of wine that evening, the mother called down from upstairs, distressed , due to a toenail on her foot that bothered her.
And so the son went up, trimmed the nail carefully, and helped his mother to bed, returning downstairs to finish sitting with his sister.
At that moment, the narrator realized that her mother had never been cared for . She had never ever been cared for the way she was cared for now, in old age. Had never been as peaceful; never as happy.
Not that she was easy to live with. Not that she was civil, or kind.
Yet, the offspring had managed to give their mother
that which she had been unable to provide for them.
That which she had never received, herself.
Many of us learn how to do this, as we grow older.
To provide for ourselves that which we were not provided with.
To provide for our parents or our children or cared ones that which we
had never received.
Sometimes, we are blessed with a friend, or a partner, or an offspring, or even a parent, who does provide these things. Love. Patience. Caring. Nourishment.
These are not a given in life; not for an ant or a bear or a tree or a person, nor you or I.
Instead, they are a blessing. A gift of such import, whether we learn to create caring ourselves, or have the grace to be the lucky beneficiaries.
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