What Matters

What matters is talking to my Dad today.

Twice.

What matters is the bad news that my StepMom's Uncle passed away, and that she has to fly up North to his funeral.

What matters is that subsequent to a very tumultous evolution, from a pre-teen resentment of this fine lady, that I can freely say how much I love her.

And how much I appreciate how she's repeatedly saved my Dad's life. Literally. Over, and over again, she's stood between him and the reaper, and has kept him on this planet through her will and her love.

Heart attacks, bypasses and complications to the edge of the grave, she has never given up. Never.

If for nothing but this alone, I shall love her, always.

And through all of this, fighting illnesses and unimaginable agonies of her own.

Through her own horrible, terrible and debilitating pain; yet still, she was always there.

When being there, very literally, was the margin of life or death to my Dad.

She. Was. There!

Moreover, she has always loved my brother and I. He, the elder one of the wayward life, the drugs; the prison. The daughter he's not seen in over twenty years. The grandaughter he's never seen. And his new, young daughter, to whom he now gives his days.

My StepMom has been loyal, loving, and faithful through it all.

She has loved my brother and I.

Even when we disdained her. In spite of our spite. In spite of our stupidity and ignorance.

And our arrogance.

She has loved both my first wife, and my second. And mourned their passages from my life, perhaps even more than I.

She has loved us, and does, still.

I won't narrate the endless details of over thirty years of her unwavering love.

Nor, am I deserving to do so.

This past Christmas, she did me the honor of taking me to her local, favorite shooting range.

She, who quietly hated all my past visits to her home, while armed.

And by God, she shot the eyes out of that target!

Do not piss off my seventy-five year old StepMom.

Do. Not.

What matters, is, by God!, that this woman has taught me the meaning of integrity, of loyalty, of undying love and fealty.

What matters, and what saddens me, is that I may have learned some of these lessons far too late in life.

What matters, is that even now, sadly, I may be paying the price for those lessons learned, too late.

What matters, is that I've learned them at all.

Godspeed, Dodie.

Fly swiftly, return home safely.

Love.

Your Son,

Jim

Comments

[Light & Dark]

Jim:

You're still breathing, therefore it's not too late to have learned those lessons.

My terminally ill father, at 74 is just learning some of these, and even for him, it doesn't seem too late.

Thanks for reminding the rest of us that they're here for us to learn too.

In addition to telling us, you have told her, right? Yea... I thought so.

Just keep going, Jim. You'll get where ya want to be.

P.

[Rivrdog]

I am in awe.

You have the heart of a saint.

You have the soul of a poet.

You have a pen for the ages.

Via Con Dios, amigo!

[A Recovering Liberal]

*rising from the chair and applauding*
Bravo! Bravo!

[loiq]

I'm a redheaded stepchild (really).I don't like my stepmother at all.She has kept my father from dying for 12 years.I feel guilty for my feelings about her and am shamed by your post.

[Denita TwoDragons]

Extraodinary post, Jim.

This is a piece of writing that should have ANY child thinking about their relationship with their parents--be they blood-related or otherwise. I'm going to call my Mom up this morning and tell her I love her. Thanks.

--TwoDragons

[Emperor Misha I]

Wonderful, Jim.

Remember this before you beat yourself up too much: It's better to learn your lesson late than to never learn it at all.

Too many people never learn it, you have.

That puts you miles above average.

[SwampWoman]

I would be proud to have a tribute like that from my children.

[Anne]

Wonderful post, Jim.

[Eric]

..you never appreciate the small, everyday things in a person... until it is too late.. I closed my Father's eyes when he died... my Cousins and I dug his grave by hand later that day... as payment in sweat for all of the work he'd done to ensure we all knew he loved us... regardless of our arrogance, ignorance, and pride... it is indeed good that you have recognized a fine person while they are still here.. instead of waiting too late...

[Jack]

Outstanding post.

Congratulations on realizing the importance of people in your life before it truly was too late.

'nuff said...

[Robin]

Jim, I had a good cry while reading this post. I am a stepmother. I love my stepsons. We have not always seen eye to eye, though. I hope that someday they will realize that I am crazy for their Dad and love them, too. Pass the Kleenex again!

[Velociman]

Well said, Jim, and softly spoken. Moving words, indeed.

[dragonfly jenny]

You're breathing, right? ...

Not too late to learn! You've learned just in time.

[Anna]

Bravo! An absolutely wonderful post.

[Tina]

A very good post. It makes me realize that I should go visit my parents (loved ones) more than I do. Thanks!

[D&DS]

Hi Jim:
There is no single word to describe the feelings

That occured around here. I can only say, it was

received with GREAT joy around this old house.

I/we are EXCEEDINGLY proud to call you our own.

KNOW that YOU ARE GREATLY LOVED!
D&DS

[Jim]

Thank you, everyone.

Fifteen comments, any of which are priceless.

What life! To have friends such as you.

Worth more than gold.

The sixteenth post.

My Dad, and Dodie. THANK YOU!

Proud to love you, both.

Jim
Sloop New Dawn
Galveston, TX

[Larry]

Jim, you might call step-mom's love unconditional. It's the best kind and the hardest for some of us to learn. My dear departed taught me about it. I'm still trying to learn how to do it. Don't lose any opportunity to tell your loved ones you love them. None of us knows for sure when they'll go.

[Da Goddess]

Great post. What a great lady!