Reply #24: To breast cancer January 1969; I was 17

[abq e streeter]

and a not very mature 17 either. I didn't fully understand the seriousness of it and my father to some extent kept the worst of it from me. So I wasn't there for here like I should have .I say at least brief prayers every single night asking forgiveness for that. I intend to do this till the day I die. I was in my first year of college when she died, and my dad just said she was very sick and to come home. He told me she'd died when he picked me up at the train station. For some reason I decided at that moment to absolutely resist crying and I never did. I believe many of my physical ( not to mention emotional) problems began that night when I fought to hold in the tears at the station, and the ride home. I still have unresolved issues with both parents, though I love them deeply ( my dad's still alive and amazingly well for 91; a freak of nature really--works out almost every day etc; we discuss politics often--he despises republicans...), and they did their best under sometimes difficult circumstances. Sometimes to this day, I still find myself being selfish in focusing my memories on the imperfections that damaged me, and have been asking for both forgiveness for that and for my selfishness ans self-centeredness in focusing on that.Someone above said that losing a parent is when you grow up, but for me, I believe its the day my growing up got permanently crippled.