I didn’t get to see Guardians of the Galaxy when it came out in the theatres . as in most circumstances, I just missed out.  I didn’t invite anybody, or join any others events. I’m too old to stay up for the late shows and to grumpy, or to wait in line for hours anymore.

I do enjoy movies, and some ill still pay to see opening night. Star Wars and Star Trek for sure.

Guardians probably was one worth seeing on the movie screen.

During its release,  my own mother worsened,  and died. I was given notice,  which oddly,  I chose to ignore. Almost as if in my mind I was denying it,  and imagining thus was just another sister crying wolf. I actually didn’t know what palliative care was till last week. I didn’t know, or realize my sister was giving me warning. Giving me the opportunity to be there,  or to Skype and see her again.

My family has its own story with regards to my family, as do many families.  I loved my mother to be sure, but I’ve always over obsessed over things that other people feel as emotions. I don’t seem to feel love the same way as other people. In some ways, I’ve related to the Vulcan style of love. I can participate in love, but because it is logical to do so.

We were a close family that really didn’t know anything about each other. We spent time together, but didn’t ask a lot of personal questions. My parents moved away to British Columbia when they started to get ill and need more supervision that I could give them.  I visited both of them just before my father’s passing,  and before they stopped remembering who anyone was.  I came back home, and never saw either of them again. They deteriorated over time,  and both my sisters cared for them for a time,  but it became a part of my older sister life. She was the caretaker of my parents till the end.

Two or do weeks after her passing,  I start to occasionally wrestle with guilt,  not concerning my mother,  who was happy toll the end,  at least as far as I knew. She wire her big hats and costume jewelry till the end,  and when she didn’t know her own memories,  she freely created her own stories of fiction, delivered with enthusiasm and charm. She had lunch with the prime minister one week.

I can’t deny that the guilt I feel is more about how I feel I might be judged for my handling of her end of life. When I was the one in Ontario, and visiting them as a son once a week, it started to be hard. I saw anger in my father as he transitioned from cool,  smart minded solver of any problem, to angry at his new status as useless.  I never liked seeing my father angry.  Anger in people upsets me so deeply,  I feel the need to run away from it.

As they got worse, I bailed,  and shipped them off to the other side of the country.

I continued to live my life, free of my parents watchful eye.  I will admit,  life without parents was easier for me.  One less stress to deal with inside my depressed,  obsessive,  low self estate brain.

When given the opportunity to do more, I declined. When given the opportunity to say goodbye,  I was dismissive. I gave it no priority, and we’re it not for my sister, would not have tried.  

I was able to say hello.  She didn’t talk back, and probably had to be told she had a son,  and that his voice was on the phone.  I dud not know this was goodbye.

To be honest,  I had said goodbye when she knew me,  and moved on. I dud not think much about it.  I had successfully dealt with my father’s death before, with minimal wrote on or guilt.  My father didn’t do as well.  He was angry or sad,  and although he could always show joy in segments,  it was clear he wasn’t happy.

My mother finality effected me more. I didn’t set aside time to cry,  but I did be one weepy spontaneously a few times.  Triggers if memories.  I have missed both of them often,  at some uric times when I remember a story.

When I do the go that would be worthy of pride,  I’m saddened a bit that they missed it. 

I mourn my parents every time I am reminded of a memory, and I smile.  I have sadness were not make g new memories,  and I cherish the ones I’ve retained.  I do my best to retell only the good ones.

Death of your parents however does transition your thinking.  Like Thanksgiving weekend is the time when a lot if people start thinking about Christmas,  death of a loved one is the trigger to start thinking about your mortality.  I am older than all how old I remember my parents being,  for all the the memories of with my family. That’s a weird realization. My parents died older than my grandparents were when they dies,  and all my memories of them,  are as really old,  lose skin grandparents.

My mother was an old grandmother to her only granddaughter.  To her,  my mom was the old loose skinned lady that didn’t always know who she was.

I’m happy my memories if her were during good times. I’m sad I have to obcessive over other people’s view of me for this. Not only do I care what other people think,  I’ve already written the script,  NY decided for them, feeling my guilt for it.

So I write.

I journalism some thoughts about my mom tonight,  tearing slightly but smiling mostly.

Thus all happened because I sat down to watch Guardians of the Galaxy at home,  and the opening scene is all about a son being bedside his I’ll and deathbed mother.  I paused,  and write all this.

I am glad I didn’t see this in the theatre.

The universe provides. 

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