"I think sometimes that had I known she would not survive her illness, I might have written a different book-less a meditation on the absent parent, more a celebration of the one who was the single constant in my life."
In his book, "Dreams From My Father", Barack Obama writes this about his mother. And I can empathise. I have spent much of my life contemplating the influence and effect of the absent parent. Perhaps I have not spent nearly enough time on the one who has always been there, who has been the single constant thing in MY life. But then I think, that's not true. My whole life, it would seem, has consisted of me looking back at them that spawned me, and struggling with the immense hold they have had over me, he that wasn't there at all, and she that was always there.
Which is why the last 2 years have felt alien. The looking back has begun to be tempered with the looking forward, which has less to do with them, and more to do with my own possibilities, with what I might do, without the weight of their lives hanging around my already weary shoulders. I must confess, it is not easy, especially for my brother and I. We are caught between being all that's left of a egregiously flawed but brilliant man, and the entirety of hope/dream/aspiration/ life's work of the most courageous woman. Wherever we go, we will always be a sum of these two characters and their own missteps and triumphs. We can not escape that duty as hard as we try.
In his book, "Dreams From My Father", Barack Obama writes this about his mother. And I can empathise. I have spent much of my life contemplating the influence and effect of the absent parent. Perhaps I have not spent nearly enough time on the one who has always been there, who has been the single constant thing in MY life. But then I think, that's not true. My whole life, it would seem, has consisted of me looking back at them that spawned me, and struggling with the immense hold they have had over me, he that wasn't there at all, and she that was always there.
Which is why the last 2 years have felt alien. The looking back has begun to be tempered with the looking forward, which has less to do with them, and more to do with my own possibilities, with what I might do, without the weight of their lives hanging around my already weary shoulders. I must confess, it is not easy, especially for my brother and I. We are caught between being all that's left of a egregiously flawed but brilliant man, and the entirety of hope/dream/aspiration/ life's work of the most courageous woman. Wherever we go, we will always be a sum of these two characters and their own missteps and triumphs. We can not escape that duty as hard as we try.
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