I remember Mom

When my mother was well, she often displayed a high level of emotional intelligence. I’ll give you an example of what I mean. As we all know, when people live together, they often get on one another’s nerves, and they take pot shots at each other. And sometimes people become irritable and they take it out on the person closest to them. Well, I have to admit that I can be very irritable and fus...sy. Sometimes my skin will just crawl and I’ll want to get out of myself. I can’t get comfortable. Everything seems to rube me the wrong way. When I’m like that, the least little thing will annoy me. And when my mother was around, I did my fair share of complaining about all the noise she was making by rocking in her rocking chair too much or chatting too much. I would snap at her, but rather than become defensive, she seemed to always know that I was just in one of my moods--at least when she was well. And sometimes after lecturing her about how it was a great bother to have to put up with her, she would say in this quiet, comic voice, “I know. I’m a bad sort.” It never failed to crack me up and defuse the situation.

I really miss her. Living with her when she was experiencing a breakdown was hellish, but when she was well, there wasn’t a kinder, sweeter person on earth. There is that old saying that guys--straight guys that is--want to find a girl just like dear old Mom. Obviously I don’t want a girl, but I think if I found a boy like dear old Mom, someone kind and gentle, someone who knew how to handle me when I was grumpy, someone who didn’t take my crabby remarks personally when I was in a snit, I think I would be a very lucky guy.