Reflecting...

A lot of bummer news today, like beloved parent's of friends and acquaintances passing away.  It's hard to hear about. It's hard to know what to say, since there is nothing that can be done.  

It got me thinking a lot about the child-parent, parent-child relationship.  It's an incredibly strong bond, even if the relationship wasn't great, and I think that's what makes it so unique.  A child who was mistreated by his or her parents will likely always carry that hurt forever, and perhaps even the slightest, smallest hope for kindness.  A parent whose child rebels and gives them years of hell will also carry hurt and will always long for reconciliation.  I know many people in my life with relationships like these.  Through their sad stories, their anger, their pain and their resolve to "not care," I can always see that they do.  They do care.  They do wish for that "normal" parent/child love.  And I don't care how old you are, as a child, that kind of love and acceptance from a parent can overshadow you, even if they've passed.  

It's amazing we all begin this race of life at the same starting line: from our mothers.  We all have one.  We all came out one of two ways.  That homeless man laying on the sidewalk?  He was once the apple of his mother's eye, a small bundle full of promise and hope, a drooling infant with big smiles for all.  So what happened?  Because you know, like all people, there's a story there.  And possibly a broken-hearted mother.  

"Hi, I'm Adolf's mom."

Even Hitler had a mother.  Jeesh.  She died from breast cancer when Adolf was 18, before all of his Mein Kampf and such started.  What would she have thought about it all?  Would she have been proud? Ashamed?  Guilty?  For after all, Hitler is probably one of the most hated individuals in all of human history and she had him.  And again--he was a little bundle full of hope, a drooling infant, a one-year old with fat thighs and a charming giggle.  

Where do we go so wrong?