Yesterday was a lovely morning. My mom and I were bonding like we haven’t bonded in a long time. We were talking about books (one of our favorite topics) and I shared with her my next book. This time, she sounded supportive. I almost stopped several times since there were several interruptions, and expecting her to let me; but she reminded me to continue.
You see, my mom and I haven’t been the best of friends. We’ve always had animosity towards one another. There was even a time I could tell you I felt hate. Even towards my father.
There are so many mixed feelings about the experiences I’ve had with them in this life. My husband says I obsess about it but I call it something else. You see, I’m also a mathematician, a psychologist, a teacher, a counselor, a problem solver. I need to solve problems. I have to. That is what I do. People come to me to help them solve theirs but no one is as dedicated to solving their problems as much as I have been to solve my own. After all, that is how I fought and won my battle with depression.
After my wonderful morning with my mother, my father comes and reminds my mother they have somewhere to be in the next hour. I usually don’t ask them where they’re going, but this time, for the sake of keeping the conversation with my mother going, I ask. My mom tells me they’ve got an appointment with a lawyer.
“A lawyer?” I ask.
“Yes, for the will.”
I don’t dare ask anything else. At the same time, I’m fearing I possibly heard wrong. My expression is expressionless, unresponsive. I even feel guilty for not responding but I just don’t dare.
Two reasons: One, I’ve been accused of being a person of monetary interests by my mother. (That really hurt but the child who will always reside in me is willing to forgive her; for this morning she’s been kind.) Second, I don’t want to face the destiny that awaits us all.
Though I’ve had issues with my parents, I need them both, still. I feel an urgency to solve this puzzle. My time is limited and I must solve it before they pass on. I don’t want to live without them in an abyss of misery with unanswered questions.
In the afternoon, I hear again where they were. I finally gather the courage. I have to know, and I ask, “Lawyer for what?” My mother affirms my fears—to write their will and testament.
I wanted to cry but I didn’t. How do you react to that? Do you joke about it and ask for her book collection? Do you weep and fall to your knees and possibly make them feel worse about how close they are to moving to the next unknown? Again, I looked down, fearing my puzzled expression would show. I said nothing.