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My dad wants to meet to talk. Eek!
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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 681807" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>You know of all of the wonderful posts that Cedar has written and that I have read, this one has to be my favorite. I will try to explain why (to myself and to you.) I believe that we define ourselves by our hope, our faith. I did not always believe this, because I had very little faith.</p><p></p><p>It almost does not matter what happens, if I can stand in a place of faith. Because it is mine. It is not dependent upon one other thing, not even result or outcome. I think faith is especially hard if you have been hurt. Because it is so scary to feel that you can be made the fool or the victim. But without faith, we become our own victim. That is what I feel now.</p><p>It is not just that we know that we did the right thing, it is that by doing the right thing we build the right life. Even if it seems to be wrong and to bring wrong, we have no way of knowing at the time the true result, which can only be known at the end.</p><p></p><p>Life is a cumulative thing. It consists of our interaction with circumstances in the form of our choices. Our moral choices make our life.</p><p>You know my mother died two and a half years ago. About 6 or 7 months before she died, I made a disastrous choice and insisted she leave my home and go to a board and care or assisted living of her choice. I could not care for her myself. It was too much for me. Physically, mentally , emotionally, spiritually.</p><p></p><p>I continued very involved. One morning in I picked her up for a medical test. We arrived to the parking lot. My mother was acting very disoriented. I had never seen her that way before. You see, up until the time my mother left my house, I had been holding her up. At the cost of myself.</p><p></p><p>In that car I became so upset seeing my mother like that, I screamed.</p><p></p><p>I told her: You are my mother. I need you to be my mother. And she tried. She had never seen me like that either.</p><p></p><p>I had never said anything like that to her. In the past I let her walk all over me.</p><p></p><p>Now that I am practicing self-forgiveness I can no longer condemn myself for choosing for myself, that my mother be cared for elsewhere in order than my own life be saved.</p><p></p><p>I feel compelled to note here that I brought her back to my home and she died here.</p><p></p><p>I never could as long as my mother lived choose myself before her. Nor does it seem I can do so very well, after her death.</p><p></p><p>I think Cedar's post gives me a place to stand.</p><p></p><p>Mama, I loved you too much to allow your dying to kill me too.</p><p></p><p>COPA</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 681807, member: 18958"] You know of all of the wonderful posts that Cedar has written and that I have read, this one has to be my favorite. I will try to explain why (to myself and to you.) I believe that we define ourselves by our hope, our faith. I did not always believe this, because I had very little faith. It almost does not matter what happens, if I can stand in a place of faith. Because it is mine. It is not dependent upon one other thing, not even result or outcome. I think faith is especially hard if you have been hurt. Because it is so scary to feel that you can be made the fool or the victim. But without faith, we become our own victim. That is what I feel now. It is not just that we know that we did the right thing, it is that by doing the right thing we build the right life. Even if it seems to be wrong and to bring wrong, we have no way of knowing at the time the true result, which can only be known at the end. Life is a cumulative thing. It consists of our interaction with circumstances in the form of our choices. Our moral choices make our life. You know my mother died two and a half years ago. About 6 or 7 months before she died, I made a disastrous choice and insisted she leave my home and go to a board and care or assisted living of her choice. I could not care for her myself. It was too much for me. Physically, mentally , emotionally, spiritually. I continued very involved. One morning in I picked her up for a medical test. We arrived to the parking lot. My mother was acting very disoriented. I had never seen her that way before. You see, up until the time my mother left my house, I had been holding her up. At the cost of myself. In that car I became so upset seeing my mother like that, I screamed. I told her: You are my mother. I need you to be my mother. And she tried. She had never seen me like that either. I had never said anything like that to her. In the past I let her walk all over me. Now that I am practicing self-forgiveness I can no longer condemn myself for choosing for myself, that my mother be cared for elsewhere in order than my own life be saved. I feel compelled to note here that I brought her back to my home and she died here. I never could as long as my mother lived choose myself before her. Nor does it seem I can do so very well, after her death. I think Cedar's post gives me a place to stand. Mama, I loved you too much to allow your dying to kill me too. COPA [/QUOTE]
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