I’m a 75-Year-Old Orphan

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I’m a 75-Year-Old Orphan

I’m 75 years old, so being an orphan kinda comes with the territory

By the time we’re old enough
and wise enough
and experienced enough
to forgive
our parents
and ourselves for the entirety of our lives
You know the rest already
it’s usually too late
and wouldn’t have done any good anyway.
But something more must be said.
Am I the only person
who realized (too late
to tell them,)
that my parents weren’t all that special,
nor was/am I,
regardless of how special and important
I like to think of myself as being?
Am I alone in understanding,
too late,
that my view of myself
and our views of ourselves
likely start with that look in their eyes
staring at us uncomprehending,
in bafflement and confusion,
at something we’ve said or done that
makes no sense to us either?
Here’s a secret:
my parents may have understood,
but like your parents,
they probably didn’t,
that there is no self-actualization.
There is no enlightenment.
These are words
we tell ourselves and we hope somehow fit us.
But we are deluded if we think
we can apply these terms to our lives.
Our parents before us,
and all the parents
who have come and gone
for all time,
by becoming dead,
merely get a chance
to be forgiven and
like us,
to forgive ourselves,
for all the shit we did
that’s unforgivable.

Just Weighing Separator

Photo by Christian Bowen on Unsplash  

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