Love is the answer.
It is a lyric from one of John Lennon’s
song. When I hear that song, I think,
If LOVE is the answer. WHAT is the question?
Here is a question I have been pondering.
How am I going to act and behave when I see my mother
this coming Thursday?
I pick up my mother once a week to take her to
to the bank and Asian grocery store. After that, we have
lunch at an Asian restaurant.
When she is in my car, it is nothing but complaints. Awww this . . . and awww that . . . is all I hear. Within five minutes of listening, I’m already drained.
The on going topic of the year is my brother Barney who is 52 years old. He can’t quite seem to keep his head above water.
He has no money. He has an ex wife and a car that breaks down
every three months. At 52 years old, he still lives with our mother.
Of course, mom actually likes the situation because she has company.
My brother’s name and my mother’s voice circulate through and fill all the empty space in the car.
My neck suddenly feels like two hands are around it and squeezing tightly. They won’t let go.
I have a difficult time loving others who deplete
my positive energy and joy for the day. With all the self-help
books about personal power and all my years of therapy, I ought to be able to teach the subject.
But every now and then, the complaints of others–unhappy, bitter complaints about life not being good enough–drain my personal power and bring me down.
And all my praying, meditating, and yoga stances
before dawn disappear into thin air.
There it all goes.
My mantra shifts from “God give me kindness today for everyone I meet to God get me out of here.”
It would be unloving to disown family members and trade them
in for a used car or something else more useful . . .
How do WE love others who act like pits of quicksand pulling us in and burying us with sadness and disappointment?
This much I know. I will continue get up early
to pray to God and say “Help me, please.”
I will show up at my mother’s door step once a week
with a loving smile.
I will continue to show loving kindness to her
though I may not feel it at times.
I can’t change a 74-year-old woman. I
can only change me. Maybe that’s “love.”
When I’m with my relatives this week,
open my heart. Talk to me about them.
Tell me what to say. Tell me what to do.
They can’t drive anymore. They have a hard time
getting around. I may be the only person they see
today beside the mailman.
Don’t let them get the best of me.
Thank you for being in my life.