I could only think how I was affected. My anger was directed at the car driver and his inability to stay on the road. I ignored simple facts like the burst tyre, his slow speed and sobriety. I ignored the massive fact that Mum had only a few months to live anyway, before the cancer took her. I reacted with real venom to anyone who said that it saved her a great deal of pain and suffering. It was my suffering that concerned me; as I said, totally selfish.I hated the large congregation that had gathered to say goodbye. My mother was extremely popular on our estate, and at work, which was more than could be said for me. Since I could walk, mischief was a close companion. I never got into serious trouble, though more than enough to annoy just about every neighbour around. My lack of respect for my elders; I believed respect should be earned by more than being born before me; ensured that the older generation I came into contact with disliked me. My peers generally hated me because I was. It was like she’d already scoped things out and was all prepared for whatever happened. I felt a bit uncomfortable about that but never asked any questions. Finally, we met one last time in 1990. I was divorced at the time and her husband had taken a trip to Texas. She and I drove separately to a little town in northern Indiana to spend one night together. We met just before noon, went shopping and sightseeing, and I bought her a memento of the occasion to remind her of that day. We talked for almost the entire day and went to bed that night like we were an old married couple. I tried to prolong the lovemaking but she wanted me inside her very quickly, so I obliged. It happened again, as it always had in the past, and I was done almost before it started. Then, of all the unbelievable things, after all the years apart we just cuddled and went to sleep. In the morning we showered, went to breakfast and went our separate ways. I guess that’s when it truly ended. Maybe we just didn’t.
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