Those Who Love You Well, Will Make You Cry
Not from suffering or heartache, instead from happiness and sadness. After all with every new beginning comes the arrival of another conclusion. Sometimes it is bittersweet, sometimes it is exciting. Cliché or not, nothing actually lasts forever. Sooner or later what we have become accustomed to changes, morphs, or disappears into oblivion, only to be relived and revisited in our distant memories.
New transforms into old. The young trade places with the old, and before we know it we are all grown up, caring for the very beings who gave us life.
There is nothing scarier in life than facing the true realities of our existence: live, love, suffer, rejoice, and finally face death. Every grey hair a reminder of time gone by, aches and pains that get progressively worse, wrinkles that blur the youth of our souls, frail bones, weak immunities, wisdom, and finally repentance. It’s not something we’re ever prepared for, but something we all must face. Sooner or later the joy or misery we have carved out for ourselves in this life will come to an end.
Denial is not an escape, nor is science, at least not as of yet.
All any of us can do is take the moments we have been granted and make the most of them as best we can. To live one day at a time should not be only a prescription for those attempting to make a change, because we never know what twist or turn could be awaiting us just ahead. A decade and a half ago my parents’ words, warning me of how they would not be around forever, were cause enough for rolling of the eyes and laughter beyond control. In my naivety and denial, their bodies were not losing their strength, their dark tinted hair, proof that nothing could come between us.
Never were they going to leave me.
This year, my mother cried in my arms as she buried her own mother. Her sisters and brothers, all once children in my grandmother’s arms, consoled each other, as our generation of new adults (cousins and siblings) solemnly acknowledged the right of passage taking place. Rebellion, now the undertaking of our own children – who for now, continue playing, carelessly, unaware of their own fate.
Nothing compares to the unconditional love of a parent.
Nothing compares to the instantaneous right of passage from parent to child.
Nothing prepares us for either.
Unconditional love turned into uncontrollable grief.
Above all else, beyond the passage of time; memories, made one at a time, some happy, others not, all engraved in our hearts; a new conclusion; a new beginning. Those who love you well, will make you cry.