One of the more uncomfortable things one can do if one is not particularly introspective is to ask oneself what will one be remembered for (in case you wonder, I hope you'll remember me as being a stickler for correct grammer... but I digress). Will those memories be about style, grace, attitude? Will they be about a difference made in another's life, a positive influence during a bad situation?
My kids will probably remember my insanity as they suffer through years of therapy to undo the damage I've done. While I like to think I've remained the calm one of their parental units, I know better. I remember most of the rants and tirades, the occasional broken dish, the tears cried in the middle of the kitchen. I also remember good things, but I'm not sure they will. What I want most is for them to realize how much I care about them, and how I want nothing more than for them to be happy in the choices they make. I want my son to know I believe in his abilities, even when he doesn't, and that I know he can make a difference in the world. I want my daughters to know that while each is different, each has amazing potential to do great things. I want all of them to be independent enough to survive alone but loving enough to need companionship.
My relationship with my parents is hardly one to hold up as an example. My father and I barely talk, while my mother and I are hammering out a new relationship based on her diagnosis. She needs me and my sister more than she ever did before, but she's not comfortable with that dependency. I understand, but in my mind this is a temporary situation which will require sacrifices from all of us to get through. Afterwards, she can go cross-country butt-naked on a bicycle if it makes her happy, and I won't say a word. But we're not there yet.
Which means that I still have time to change what they remember me for, time to balance out past mistakes, since none of us has ever found that "undo" button for life's little problems. Ten years from now I may laugh about how over-the-top everything used to send me. I certainly hope so.
My kids will probably remember my insanity as they suffer through years of therapy to undo the damage I've done. While I like to think I've remained the calm one of their parental units, I know better. I remember most of the rants and tirades, the occasional broken dish, the tears cried in the middle of the kitchen. I also remember good things, but I'm not sure they will. What I want most is for them to realize how much I care about them, and how I want nothing more than for them to be happy in the choices they make. I want my son to know I believe in his abilities, even when he doesn't, and that I know he can make a difference in the world. I want my daughters to know that while each is different, each has amazing potential to do great things. I want all of them to be independent enough to survive alone but loving enough to need companionship.
My relationship with my parents is hardly one to hold up as an example. My father and I barely talk, while my mother and I are hammering out a new relationship based on her diagnosis. She needs me and my sister more than she ever did before, but she's not comfortable with that dependency. I understand, but in my mind this is a temporary situation which will require sacrifices from all of us to get through. Afterwards, she can go cross-country butt-naked on a bicycle if it makes her happy, and I won't say a word. But we're not there yet.
Which means that I still have time to change what they remember me for, time to balance out past mistakes, since none of us has ever found that "undo" button for life's little problems. Ten years from now I may laugh about how over-the-top everything used to send me. I certainly hope so.
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