I had a wonderful mom. She was calm, intelligent and a great listener.
She would often sit with me at the kitchen counter when I got home from school, smiling and listening intently.
When I was very young, I used to love to draw trees as I sat with my mother.
I used to draw every branch, every leaf, every detail, with dozens of leaves. I drew them the way I saw them. They might have looked something like this:
Later on, when I went to school, I saw how the other children drew trees: a simple trunk drawn with two lines and a puffy cloud to represent the leaves. They might have looked something like this:
Somehow, after seeing the way other children drew their trees, I stopped drawing trees the way I used to draw them and started to draw trees like the other children.
I found out later that when my mother saw this, she cried.
Fast forward a few years to when I was almost 9 years old. After attending one of my baseball games, my mother complained of a very severe headache. Concerned, my father took her to the hospital. Before they left, I remember telling my mother "I love you" and giving her a hug before she left.
I asked a relative if my mom was going to die. He reassured me that she was not going to die and suggested that she probably just had a migraine headache.
I wanted to believe him.
I stayed up late reading a book in hopes that my parents would return soon and let me know that all was well. Hour after hour passed and they had not returned. I eventually fell asleep.
The next morning, I arose and left my bedroom, anxious to see my parents. As I walked into the family room adjacent to my bedroom, I could see my father, who was surrounded by many neighbors and friends.
I walked to the other side of the room wanting to see my mother, but she was not there. I saw my father, tears streaming down his face. As his voice choked, he explained how it was likely that my mother was "going to leave us."
My mother had suffered a cerebral hemorrhage, was unconscious, and was being supported by a life support machine.
A short time later, I watched as they unplugged my mother from life support.
Here is my question for you:
How do you think I draw trees now?
Right now, as I write this, figuratively, I am drawing trees the way I see them.
I haven’t given my mom a hug in over three decades - but there is something that is almost as good.
It is feeling her influence.
What I Want My Children to Know Before I Die is available on Amazon and in Seagull Bookstores.
