The Story of a Boy (continued)

The boy would eventually graduate from high school and college. He would take a job with an local employer, working as a manual laborer shortly after taking the ceremonial walk at his college graduation.

It was a a graduation that occur under a dark moment in his life for shortly before the boy had suffered the passing of his beloved grandfather. It was a joyous occasion that was tinged with feelings of great sadness and regret that the departed patriarch who had put so much time into caring for the boy when he was young, could not be present for the boy's greatest achievement. The boy would walk the aisle with an aching heart for he had lost one of the few people he had in his corner.

He knew that he had not been the best of grandsons--especially so during his grandfather's final years--and that would be a regret that would never leave him. He had failed to give what had been given to him. What hurt most was that the boy could never tell his grandfather sorry, never could explain how much he meant to him, never could he tell him much how he loved him. The only thing he could do was to make sure that he was as dedicated to his father as his father and grandfather were dedicated to each other.

Another person would not be present for the boy's college graduation--the woman who gave berth to him so many years before. But unlike the innumerable other times she was not there for him, her absence was not of her choosing. She had passed away in his sophomore year in college from cancer.

She had been diagnosed the year before with cancer, so her death was not unexpected. The boy knew it was coming--and visited twice in the year granted to her.The reader must think low of the boy, for how cold is it for a boy to only see his dying mother twice? How could a boy feel so little that he would only see her two times as she lay dying?

When the boy reflected on these events in later years, he would feel some guilt over that final year, but at the time he did not feel anything. He was numb. He would come to know the feeling of complete emptiness as he sat and stared at the little green box that contained her ashes.He could only sit in mute indifference as the procession of mourners mourned the loss of a woman who gave little to those who should have meant most.

How could he feel anything for a vagabond who abandoned him at an early age to pursue dreams of a musical career? How could he feel anything, but bitterness towards a person who essentially ignored him for most of his life?

What tears he had were shed for the opportunity she squandered to be a person of substance. That was the real tragedy here, he thought to himself. She had two children who would have loved her--a love that would mean far more than the love of some music producer or adoring crowd who love you one minute, than toss you aside for the next big thing a minute later.But apparently, the undying love of her babies meant nothing to her in comparison to the love of music executives. Unfortunately for her, she never received their love.

"The tragedy here was not her death, but her wanton disregard of what matters most to mothers in this world--their children. Her life was not a waste in terms of personal accomplishments, but in her personal relationship with those who should have been of paramount importance." said the boy as he later pondered his birth mother's legacy.

The boy could not help but learn a lesson in how to live your life after analyzing his very different reactions to the deaths of his mother and grandfather. Their respective passings taught him that family comes first before anything. A career is nice to have, but such a thing pales in importance when an issue of family is involved.Sacrifice for family is a glorious thing, while sacrifice for a career is the act of a person of a dubious moral nature.

(to be continued)