For more times than I can count I’ve perused my online hometown newspaper, like I do everyday and there have been items that called out for questions to ask mom.
I’d always go to her if a certain event or God rest their soul, someone’ s name was in the obit. She knew so much and I never quite accessed her never ending vault of information like I should have. She would tell you if she rode the school bus with him. If he liked her or made fun of her glasses, or if he lived down the road from the farm.
The house was owned by Dr Blabadiblaba and he was quite something in his day, ya know he married Jane blaba, I used to work with her at the hospital. We used to go out on a Saturday afternoon if we weren’t working, we’d take the bus downtown and shop. I used to go to Blbblalblbla’s Dress Shop, I bought the cutest things. It cost this and I had to save for ages to buy it.
I thought I’d remember everything she told me, because I heard it all a hundred times. Like everything else, it is like a sieve, straining out what I dont want to hear (shame on me) and keeping in what I think is necessary. What was necessary was sitting there, not being preoccupied with the mundane I thought was important. I knew it too. There was a little voice in the back of my cranium telling me to pay attention, I’m going to regret this if I don’t. Why do I need to know about so and so living a road over or Mrs. Magilicuty living a few houses down and she used to can beans, the best in the county. I have heard this story a hundred times already.
I’ll tell you why and to anyone who is reading this, because it is important to give our parents or anyone for that matter, our full attention. Because we do not know what tomorrow holds, or if we will ever see that person ever again. Our life is important too and so are the situations in it right down to the tube of toothpaste you need to remember to pick up at the grocery store. When we interact and connect with someone else it should be full on engaged impact listening.
I cannot change yesterday, I can only work on today. Holding myself hostage of all the times I didn’t pay attention isn’t fair either. When I sit down to read the paper and I’m seeing someone I think I should know because of the stories I’ve heard, the urge to pick up the phone to call mom to ask her if she knew her, or the place or whatever it is. It is the moment when the full circle comment comes true and through and I have to make peace with myself and pull up Mrs. Maguiladuy and her canned beans and be happy with that.
Posted by bustersdaughter 
