A Little Pick Me Up

There’s a time when each of your parents picks you up, puts you down and never picks you up again. Now, I can recall many first and last milestones in my life. But even with the finality of this, I can’t remember the precise day or circumstances associated with my parents putting me down for the last time. I doubt they would have been able to either. As the youngest, my folks knew that picking me up in their arms would cease at some point like it did for my siblings. It's inevitable. As happens with all kids, we just got too big. Continuing with this gesture was unnecessary due to our independence or too taxing on our parents’ body.

I don’t think my mother or father conscientiously acknowledged that, “After this, I’m not picking up any of my kids ever again.” So, physically releasing us from their arms for the last time wasn’t a premeditated incident captured for prosperity because it was routine. Mundane actions end up blending together to form uneventful days which turn into weeks then months then quickly passing years. Children grow so fast; not everything is a watershed moment, worthy of recalling by either party involved. Without an anchoring occasion, such as a birthday, holiday or developmental achievement providing emotional attachment, generic details get lost.

I heard this “There’s a time…” statement following my mom’s funeral in 2015, almost nineteen years after my father’s unexpected death. It resonated with me since I was still in mourning. But then I started thinking about it from a different angle.

There are many pictures of my parents holding their kids and grandkids. We matured and became self-sufficient while Mom and Dad grew old and became frail. So, at a certain point, lifting any of us off the ground wasn’t an option. I realized, although not physically able to, our parents continually raised our spirits with their words of encouragement and hoisted us up by celebrating our triumphs.

Neither ever put any of us down when we failed. They did their best to ease the pain associated with our heartbreaks. They literally dusted us off and were a constant source of support as we endured the inevitable lows of life. Picking up a child is comforting, but temporary. A parent always being there is impactful and everlasting.

We had ample time to say goodbye to Mom. At the end, her mind and body were worn, but she always smiled when her family came to visit, even if she couldn’t recall our names. It was reassuring seeing her happy to see us. And now, even after all the years, my parent’s presence still lifts me, reminding me everything will be alright. I’m grateful that to this day, they’ve never let me down.