All things considered, I’m lucky. Tomorrow is Mom’s birthday. I love you, Mom.
When I was younger, much younger, Mom went to a shrink. She was unhappy about my prospects of ending-up 30, unmarried and childless. Even then, she knew me better than I knew myself. What strikes me as beautiful, all these years later, is Mom went to a shrink for me, not herself. If that’s not unconditional love, I don’t know what is. Even when we don’t agree, on any number of things, from what I’m doing with my life, to how I’m wearing my hair, I’ve known, since I was old enough to know what knowing is, that Mom has my back.
Condolences to Hillary on the loss of her Mom, Dorothy Rodham. I’ve been pretty much in love with Hillary since she took on the health care issue as First Lady. The guts! It was a dream come true to vote for her when she ran for senate in New York. Grandpa Bernie, Mom’s Dad, hated Hillary so much, he sent money to Rick Lazio, even though he didn’t live in New York. I don’t tell you this to bash Grandpa Bernie. I tell you this to show how diverse our family is when it comes voicing, and getting behind, our opinions. And yet, despite our differences, maybe because of our differences, we love each other ferociously while we’re lucky enough to be alive. I miss Grandpa Bernie. I miss him terribly. I know Mom does, too.
Ruth Madoff knows. Her sons knew. Her youngest son’s suicide note said it all, “Nobody Wants To Know The Truth.”
Truth is, the Madoffs knew exactly what was going on; truth is, they should all be convicted felons, stripped of every penny, forced to look for work having to declare themselves convicted felons on their job applications for the rest of their lives; truth is, her daughter-in-law stands to make a ton of money on the book she wrote, another disgraceful scheme.
Shame on 60 Minutes for televising “Ruth’s Pity Party.” The Madoff I hate the most is Ruth. I know Mom doesn’t agree with me, since we watched the interview together. I love watching TV with Mom. Even when we disagree, her point-of-view comes from the absolute center of truth. It’s a lot to live up to.
Tomorrow is Mom’s birthday. I love you. Happy Birthday.
I’d apologize for being long past 30, still unmarried, still childless. But the apology would be more schmooze than anything else. Truth is, I’m lucky. My life is exactly the way I want it. If anything, Mom, I have to say, you raised a man who’s comfortable in his own skin, who likes himself enough to keep his chin up when things look down, who thanks God every day for the opportunity to work along side of his brother, who just returned from his second trip to Rio with the awareness he should have emailed his Mother more often, but was selfishly too busy having the absolute best trip of his life.
Thank you for giving me this life. Happy Birthday, Babs!