My experience at a high school has been a humbling experience as a human. It’s helped me evaluate my life, the choices I’ve made, and the paths they’ve led me down. Good and bad. I’ve often compared my family’s life to that of the Loman’s in Death of a Salesman. That play kicked me in the balls as a teen and it’s stuck with me ever since.
However, upon reflection, there’s been very little about my life that’s been pathetic. Good or bad. Every path has made me a better person. Every encounter has enriched my life in ways people would never know.
I suppose I should try and tell them more often so they know, because too often we humans wander through life in need of love and validation, wanting and hoping to make an impact on anyone anywhere, wondering if we have.
My parents did the best they could – it was the 70s/80s. They fled the only life they knew as teenagers, to come to the United States. They met in night school, fell in love, and did the best they could to raise two American kids with very Cuban values. I wish they were here so I could tell them that they did a great job. It wasn’t the life I had wanted that I’d invented in my head, but it IS the life I had, which was: safe, loved, cared for, with morals and values. I wish I had told them how grateful I feel before they died.
March is a difficult month. My father’s birthday, then my mom dies a week later on St. Patrick’s. It’s been a lifetime without them. Their love. Their guidance. My children were robbed of a set of grandparents who would have loved them more than they loved me. I am 51 and I feel lost and alone. Yes I have plenty of friends and some family, but they’re not my parents. They’re irreplaceable.
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