It didn't take long for me to figure out that my mom was too sensitive for her own good. Honestly, it made life harder for her and for all of us around her. It has taken me a lot longer to understand that I'm just like her.
"Ronny, would you be willing to consider that you're just more sentimental than she is?" the therapist asked.
Let me help with the translation:
"Buck up, fool! Life's hard and you seem to be good at making it harder. For everybody."
Well, I'm hoping for a legacy. It's selfish and petty and self-serving, I know. I'm hoping that someday, if I'm remembered at all, I'll be remembered for loving. Not particularly well. Certainly not wisely.
It had never dawned on me until folks at my mother's little memorial service took my hand and reminded me that she had always ended every little get-together with, "I love you."
She left me a lot.
I love you.