A Parent's Lament

My heart is destroyed, too heavy to be lifted.
I should have kissed you every day when
you were little. Should have hugged you more.
If only I’d spent more time with you to teach
you that you were worthy, and, in turn, taught
you to treat others as worthy. We could’ve fished, skated, played games and sports, cooked together, laughed and cried. Instead, I was usually “busy” trying to acquire material things for you, for myself, and for the rest of the family. Busy working we call it. Too busy to attend the emotional and psychological needs
of you, my offspring growing up, my own flesh and blood. As a result, the pain in my heart, what’s left of it, is often unbearable. It is a bitter and I fear permanent pain. Now you are in trouble. Deep trouble with the police. With society. With God, even. I know you’ll never forgive me. I suspect I wouldn’t either if I were in your shoes. Still, I’m not going to forget you. I’m not going to write you off, my child. I know I’ll spend the rest of my life trying feebly to make amends. You can approve or disapprove my attempts. They won’t be much. They won’t be any solution for you. But at least they’ll be something. Something is better than nothing. And God help us both.

(Note to readers: This piece of writing, in my personal case, is fiction. Fortunately! However, there are many parents, whether together or single, for whom it is not or would not be fiction. When I wrote this piece, I had in mind a particular mother who has been charged with the murder of her daughter.)