I shuddered when I saw my Mom’s photograph.  As far as I can tell it was a photograph taken in the cemetery when my father died.  She was this grim looking woman who had a long brimmed black hat on and steadied herself with a cane.  When I viewed this photograph again, she had been dead nine years.  I had forgotten about her.  How crazy she really was.  She tried to control Dad with all her illnesses she was always complaining about.  He resisted this.  She was hard to get away from.  When I was a child and young adult, I had no choice.  I could not get away from her.  Her fears and anxieties ran her life and those around her.  I had forgotten her and how nuts she truly was and how incredibly controlling she was.  And she was viewed sane.  I saw this first hand.  The photograph of her brought back all these negative feelings about her.  It is a terrible thing to say:  she was my Mother but part of me was glad to get rid of her.  There is so much, though, you can discard.  I can only escape her to a certain degree.  I know part of her is in me.  And I am aware I still owed her a debt.  There were traits she transmitted to me I am glad to have.  It took a long time to shed parts of her I wanted to.  And some I never will.

I thought the tears were gone but they were not ended.  I heard the song Neil Young wrote thirty-seven years ago, “Old Man”, again and I thought of my Dad who died nine years ago.  A little later I burst into tears.

We had such a “rocky” relationship.  Most of my life he did not accept me and we argued a lot particularly about finances:  I knew I did not meet his expectations of a son.  He never told me exactly how.

The last conversation I had with him he told me he was far more impressed with the million dollars his future son-in-law made selling his company than anything I did.

I remember our conversation and was then aware it might be the last time I might talk to him.  He was ninety-one and possibly blind.  His mind was lucid but I had to talk to him slowly.  I tried reasoning with him but to no avail.

He did not value anything I accomplished in my life.  All he valued was money.  I finally gave up and left him in bed.  That was the last time I saw him alive.  He died shortly after.

Although he did not approve of my life I did know the last year or two of his life he loved me.  That was a gift but I wish he would have valued who I truly was a little more.

Anyway, hearing the song “Old Man” brought up memories of my Dad and all the years we “lost”.  I loved him despite how hard he was with me.  In the end he loved me.  That was all that mattered.