Fragments of a Fractured Mind

In memory of mother. Father, too….

She suffered greatly that night, 62 long years ago. The birth of her second son was not an easy one. As if the pain of childbirth isn’t enough, there were complications and so I was delivered by means of a Caesarean section. I am told that even with this great pain, even with agony of unexpected surgery, mother smiled and laughed when she first looked upon my face. My father, standing not far away, cried softly, even though he was a very strong man. He looked upon his newborn son and said, “Well. He’ll always have a place to sleep.” These sainted people gave life to me and they saw to it that I never wanted for anything that can be truly considered to be important. Even as the storms of life descended upon their marriage not so many years after my birth, my folks never once allowed their differences to erode their love for me and for my brother.

Came a summer day in 1960 when my dad lost his life in an auto crash and just one year and two weeks later, it happened again. My mother met her end, violently, painfully, in a twisting of metal and shattering of glass on a lonely darkened stretch of country highway. I am only just now learning much of the details of those troubled days, and I admit that some of it is difficult to hear, much less understand. But I will know the truth of it. This I pledge to the two people who graced me with gifts that no other earthly person could hope to match. They gave to me a strength and an intelligence to deal with this often ponderous life. I confess here that I have not always honored those gifts as well as I ought to have. I beg my parents, there in the streets of heaven, near to my Lord, to forgive me for these shortcomings. I want for them to know that I will spend the remainder of the days with which God will grace me being the son they can be proud of.

I miss you, Red and Sue. I miss you so much, and I love you with all my heart. I am so proud to be your son. Thank you for the bountiful wealth you gave to me.


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