I read an article the other day written by an economist who stated, after much research, parents can put aside their guilt because the only decision that matters is where we choose to live.
I breathed a sigh of relief but then…I stopped. I thought of everything I do in the raising of my boys. Everything my husband and I do. Really, none of it matters except that one decision?
Today we went to church. My oldest rested his head on my shoulder. He lifted the program up and sang along to the music while I joined him. My middle colored on the donation envelopes. Our youngest whispered to the middle when it was time to stand up in the service and the middle did – while still coloring in his lines.
The middle served me breakfast in bed that he made all himself. The oldest jumped on my bed and said he was ready to snuggle. The youngest offered me a trinket from his special bowl.
“I’m supposed to bistract you Mom,” he said.
I think of my own mother. And I think of her often, even though she’s been gone 25 years. The impression she left on me is still there, the empathy she showed others, the kindness.
I think of my dad. Vibrant as ever these days. Retirement is certainly not an opportunity for him to sit on his laurels. He has plans. He has life to live and grandchildren to visit. He is also still always there when I need a wise word or a listening ear.
My parents were involved. Loving. They were also imperfect. They learned and evolved.
On the one hand, it’s comforting to know these decisions we make and change later on don’t matter in the long run but on the other hand…I have to believe all this time and effort we take in the raising of these boys matters.
And when I think back on my parents I know it does matter. It is because of all sorts of decisions they made – not just on where they lived – that we are the people we are today.
We are better than we might have been.
Embracing Next 