second chances

My father was a stoic, cowboy-type fellow. Oh yeah, and an alcoholic. (funny thought: I remember one of my classmates in grade schools saying to me, "Your dad isn't an alcoholic. He drinks just as much as my dad.") Anyway, I did my best to follow in my father's footsteps...and I did a pretty damn good job for a while.

And all was well and good until he had to go and get sick with cirrhosis. My father was in and out of the hospital from April til September. And it was just me and him, living our little dysfunctional life. Me being bitchy because I was 19 and his soul care-taker...my 'family' couldn't bring themselves to step in and help in anyway...although they could dump their kids on me while they went to fucking-Disneyland. Oops, got off the point there. So, I was bitchy, and my dad was scared. And in all that time my dad couldn't risk the vulnerability of telling me that he loved me, nor could I risk the vulnerability of telling him that I loved him. And it was that he dyed without me telling him how much I loved him or how much he meant to me. And I carry this regret with me every fucking day. And there are certainly many other things I could regret having said or not said, but those things pale in comparison to not saying those simple words, "I love you."

So, here I am about to go visit my mother. And my mother is by no means on her death bed, but realistically, this could be my last visit while she is still alive. So it is that I have the task of figuring out what it is that I need to say to my mother (I do tell her regularly that I love her) in order to quell in future regrets.