Unconditionally

The words "unconditional love" dislodged wonderful multiple memories from my brain. They fell into my heart like happy kids into an inviting pool. As each memory hit my heart's waterline, my breathing hitched and the tears came. I sobbed uncontrollably for a few minutes.

"Are you crying" my wife Amy asked.

I nodded and sobbed. She took my hand.

I didn't expect this reaction, sitting at a celebration of life for the father of one of my wife's good friends. Her friend was sharing some memories about her father and then she told us all that her dad loved her and her brother unconditionally. That he gave his love freely, kept communication open, and supported them through good times and bad. 

And that made me remember my father and his unconditional love for me and my sister. He passed away in 2012. 

I couldn't stop the tears; he gave his love freely, kept communication open, and supported us through good and bad times as well. It's not that our mom didn't do some of the same, but it was more complicated with her and us. She passed away four months after our dad, shortly after I took her home to Oregon.

I couldn't stop the tears. Amy squeezed my hand. I then thought about the day before when we were at another memorial for one of my dear friend's mother who had recently passed. She loved life and lived it to its fullest. She found and embraced as much joy as possible throughout her life and encouraged her family to do the same. 

And that's Amy to us, me and our children. I squeezed her hand.

Amy's friend finished her eulogy. My tears continued. I remember at the end of high school when I finally broke down and told my parents about my past, my current emotional state, and my crippling anxieties, anxieties that I was not equipped to talk about in any rational way prior to that moment. Prior to that moment I had become cynical about unconditional love, not believing there was such a thing. But in that moment, both parents held me and told me they loved me and that they'd help me figure it out. I'll never forget that. 

Our kids have had some of their own emotional struggles as teens, and we're grateful they've been able to share with us. Each time we listen and hold them and tell them we love them and we'll help them figure it out by empowering them to do so.

My tears kept coming as the celebration of life for Amy's dear friend's father continued. Those in attendance were given party hats because he wanted it to be a celebration. But losing someone dear brings sadness, and Amy's friend told us all, "The tears are worth it."

I wondered what my children would say about me someday after I was gone. I know that's morbid, but after reliving my own's father love as I sat there, I already knew the answer before I even asked myself the question: they would say he gave his love freely, kept communication open, and supported us through good times and bad.

Unconditionally. 

It's all in the caring now

Caring is emphasized as much as curing.

That's a sentiment that really touched me when I read David Brooks' recent opinion piece titled Death and Budgets from The New York Times, and kind of where I've arrived when it comes to my parents' health, particularly my mother's.

The rest of our family vacation was bittersweet in that regard, my mother still in the throes of a severe Porphyria attack as well as recovering from a stomach surgical procedure, her body an embattled shell of itself, losing its battle to the years of chronic illness, pain and multiple medications.

That's been hard for the entire family, but we've been so focused on the "curing" and her getting her life back by pushing her to take better care of herself, we lost sight somehow of just simple caring for her as she has cared for us all these years.

Moms are supposed to care for there families unconditionally (although I know every family, including my own, who would argue there are always a few conditions), so why don't we do the same for them? There's a point when we just have to stop blaming our loved ones for not taking the best care of themselves and just encourage them and care for them unconditionally (with a few conditions thrown in for good measure).

My mother was in good spirits when we visited last week, especially since her sweet granddaughters were there (no matter how exhausting they were for the Mama and the Daddy -- enough with the fairy godmother dumbstick, please), but she was limited in what she could do physically. Unfortunately I've never seen her look so ill.

But we still had a great time visiting with them, going out to the local parks for strolls and also visiting a wild animal safari park that the B-hive buzzed wildly about. The Oregon coast is really gorgeous and the weather couldn't have been better.

There were a few times, when Mom's strength was there, when she could hold our girls and play with them a little. Dad could do more, but his strength has been sapped as well because of his own physical impairments over the years as well as caring for Mom (which is why it's time to bring them close).

I contrast that with the years my sister had with my parents helping to take care of her two wonderful children, when they were younger and in relatively better health. Years my family will most likely never have with them at this point.

Family dynamics are not always warm and fuzzy, but for those of us who have parents we love, and for those who are parents today, you embrace the all of it.

Sure some folks would say, "You should've had your kids sooner," or, "Your parents should've taken better care of themselves."

Although my dad would retort, "Should'ves and could'ves don't mean shit."

And I agree, because they don't. Only the "now" means anything and how you respond to the now. No, I'm not resentful. Sad, but not resentful. My sister was blessed with those years as I'm blessed with the moments I've gotten of late.

It's all in the caring now. It's all in the caring.

We love you, Mom and Dad.