When Our Parents Have Died

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When Our Parents Have Died

I’ll be 74 years old next week, so being an orphan kinda comes with the territory

The title (and sub) here pretty much
tells the whole story.

However, to reiterate:
by the time we’re old enough
and wise enough
and experienced enough
to forgive
our parents
and ourselves, well…
You know the rest already.

But something more must be said.

Am I the only person
who realized (too late
to tell them,)
that my parents weren’t special,
regardless of how special and important
I like to think of myself as being?

Am I alone in understanding,
too late,
that my view of myself
and our views of ourselves
likely start with that look in their eyes
staring at us uncomprehending,
in bafflement and confusion,
at something we’ve said or done that
makes no sense to us either?

Here’s a secret:
my parents may have understood,
but like your parents,
they probably didn’t,
there is no self-actualization.
There is no enlightenment.

These are words.
We tell ourselves and we hope somehow fit us.
But we are deluded if we think
we can apply these terms to ourselves.

Our parents before us,
and all the parents
who have come and gone
for all time,
by becoming dead,
merely get a chance
to be forgiven and
like us,
to forgive ourselves,
for all the shit we did
that’s unforgiveable.

Oh, and all you Christians
those paying-up on Sundays
and those on death row,
so sure of how grand things are
gonna be
once you’ve got that little
needle thing done —
this applies to you even more
than to the fools who think
they’re all knowing

Jesus is NOT yer buddy,
which you’ll never quite realize
because like the people you killed
and our dead parents . . .

and. . .

never mind.

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