Last night I finished reading Anne Lamott's book Plan B.
I found some of her stories engaging and some hilarious, some were so sad and some were irritating.
But they are her stories told with her remarkable way of putting words together. She is self-deprecating and honest.
She is all about the love, baby. It's important to her to love.
It's just that....she has a real hard time loving her mom. She loves her by taking care of her when she is sick and dying.
But she really resents her for being the person she is. For her flaws and weird ways and inability to be a more normal/better mom.
It made me wonder if my children would only see my stupid flaws and weird ways and focus on those when I die.
And I suppose they will. At first. Parents have a way of hurting us when they are not perfect.
My parents were not perfect. But time has rinsed the pain away. What is left is the love.
I let those bad memories fade. I let them go. Way far way...into the fog.
The good memories, I draw near. I embrace them. I cherish them.
I think we need to be gentle with those who have died.
Not for them. But for us.
Learning to forgive people for being the broken people they were is a balm to our souls.
Learning to have mercy heals our hearts.
And then what is left?
The good parts.
The good parts of them. The good parts of us.
The love remains.
Like the cat's water bowl with the hard caked on lime. That lime that will not come off, no matter how hard you scrub.
That's what you want to be stuck with. That kind of stuck on love.
It's what remains.
Love one another,