Crying

I started crying.

After playing five holes of golf with my dad, I finally understand it all.

We may not agree on everything, but my parents care. I care for them.

I was driving away from the course, and I took a different route than my father. I was almost racing to beat him.

I lost the “race.” But once we got to the intersection, he wanted to check my brake lights; they’ve been acting up.

I’m not sure why but tears started to well up. I just felt so worked up that I needed to cry. I needed to get it out. (As I’m writing this, we’re welling up again.)

I’m almost 18. Almost an adult. My parents have done their job. This is a bit “mort” but I think about them dying. My grandparents, parents, everyone. It’s a scary thought.

For people who’s parents are lackluster, I personally feel bad for them.

I pulled into the garage and just started to pour, but also stopped myself, to keep my resolve. My mother would be sitting on the couch, and she would be concerned to see her only son crying. I wouldn’t want to concern her.

My parents go through heaven and hell with me. And while I’ve acknowledged that before, things are really hitting home. When we diverged, that meant something to me. It meant that I was breaking away… and again that is scary.

They must be scared for their son. Their only son. I must carry my lineage. I’m going to miss my parents dearly… I’m going to miss my grandparents dearly… I feel ashamed to act against them. They do so much, and I just receieve and receieve and receieve. They’ve provided for me, and I’ve sort-of failed them. I failed them. I feel terrible for failing them. I aim to not fail them again, for the rest of our natural lives.

It’s scary growing up. You’d never want your parents to go, nor would you want anyone that you’ve touched to go as well. But we all must go, one day. The issue I have is seeing my parents grow old as well. (I started tearing up writing this.) I would think my parents are invicible. They’ll never leave me. My grandparents will never leave me. They’ll always be around, no doubt. A fantasy we live in, for sure. One day it’ll only be my blood cousin and I, carrying on the family name. It hurts to write that. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. I don’t want them to ever leave.

These thoughts are only hastened because I see my parents grow old with me. If only this, if only that, if only we had a time machine to revisit all the days, and scrub the bad ones.

My grandfather always said “If I’m living and nothing ever happens to me…”, my mother tries to share what she would like to happen in the unfortunate event of her passing, my father with his gray hair… It hurts… and I try to hide from such events. I remember when my mother was talking with someone about not having a casket and such; I would try to not hear such a thing, I would try to stop my mom from talking about stuff like that… It would scare me. The inevitable is so scary.

I assume my parents will read this one day, and they probably know how I feel on such topics.

I probably can’t explain all of what I’m feeling, but it’s something deep. It’s something really deep. I love my all of my parents. I don’t want them to go, but they will one day. What a sad set of days that’ll be.

I haven’t cried this much in a long time…