My Mother taught me that life was short. She knew as she died from cancer at the ripe old age of 35, I was 13 years old at the time. She said life was short and that I should try my best to enjoy as much of it as I could, and not to pay a lot of attention to what stupid people may think. And that most people were stupid, doubly so for the highly educated ones. My mom taught me a lot in that short six months that it took for her to die.
Mom said all males were especially stupid but that they could not help it. She said men think with their penises even when they had no interest in sex. If the men weren't thinking about screwing women, they were screwing with each other over stupid things like power and possessions. If by a miracle all the men on the face of the earth were wiped out there would be world peace in a matter of months, and within years there would be true equality in the world.
My mom was a smart lady, and she loved my father even if he was stupid. My father loved my mom as well, maybe too much. It almost seems that he died a little each day with my mom, watching her as the cancer ate away her life and our once happy family. But dad did his best even though all of the penises in the world could not save my mom from dying.
In that six months mom passed on a lifetime of information to her only child, her only daughter. She said love was perfect by itself, it did not need the thoughts of men to decipher what was right or wrong about love. Love did not need control or possessions, it only needed another to love. Love was enough by itself.
My mom also taught me that learning was enough by itself. To learn as much as I could and about as many possible things as I could. And that each individual learned in their own unique way, and it was okay if what they learned was different from what you learned. The learning was the important part and that you should do it for as long as you have breath to breathe.
I miss my mom, but in that six months she made sure I would never forget her or her love for me, the love for my father, and the love for all things. The world is a sadder place without her, but it is all that we have.
After the death of my mother I slept with my father. We held on to each other in our grief and in our healing. I think that my father came to terms with the loss of mom sooner then I did and suggested that I should start sleeping in my own bed again. I didn't want to go as a part of me believed that if I didn't hold on to my father that he would die too and I would be left alone. I did extract from him the promise that if I couldn't sleep that it was okay for me to return to bed with him.
Dad owned his own small computer company and immersed himself into the running of that company.
I had school and my only friend, Susan. Susan would spend the weekends with me and we would talk. As our bodies matured we would compare how different we were becoming. I was to remain long and lean with A Cup breasts, but Susan was turning into a voluptuous young woman that turned even the heads of women. We would often chuckle together about some of the stares she received, and play out fantasies about how she would flash parts of her body at those who stared so openly. The more we played the more we added.
