Purposefully Perpetrated Is Perfectly Plausible

Dear Queen Mum,

Time continues to fly by, and your passing is still heavy on my heart, undeniably so, but, thankfully, Mother, you’ve not been around to see what’s happened these past 29 months. Your passing was one of the most spiritually and emotionally challenging moments, theretofore, in my life, for many reasons, yet I cannot help but think it is better that you’ve not born witness to everything that’s unfolded since. I know you’d be overly burdened, markedly so, Queen Mum, if I may use the nickname bestowed upon you by someone once, or at least the impression of that someone you once knew.

Apparently, your impressions were all wrong, Queen Mum.

Of course, Mom, I would give anything for “just one more day,” as they say. How I wish I could tell you those things that were always meant to be said, things left unsaid. How I wish I could tell you that I do miss you, that I would give anything for you to still be alive. How I’d love to fly you here, for support. How I’d love to tell you all I’ve shared with those who support me, instead. I would make a point of calling you, writing you, Mom. However, I can’t. That hurts so much to say, and to realize that–to the point I have tears in my eyes as I write this, is one damn immense pill to swallow.

Thank goodness, Queen Mum, you’re not alive to know all that’s transpired, for if you were, you’d be immeasurably distraught, so undeniably troubled by the actions that have occurred these past two years-plus, especially for six unbearable months in 2014.

The last 29 months would have forced you through various phases. Most likely, you would have reached out, at first… to various parties. You would have recommended moderation. Actually, you did, years ago. However, based on your own experiences, you may have simple seen the reality of all and let life take its course, but then, Mom, you most likely would have developed stronger reactions over time–and that’s why I’m glad you weren’t here these two dozen-plus months. January of this past year, you would have been flabbergasted, with the ensuing months catapulting you into emotions that I’m glad you did not experience. Those months were hard enough for me. What they would have been for you makes me ill to think about.

Mom, you see, you didn’t know that summer I last visited you, the final two days I saw you alive, that things had deteriorated so. Naturally, you knew there were troubles. Of course. You knew all was tumultuous. You knew. But… you were intentionally given false impressions at the very end.

Did that last eye exchange you make with… well, did any of your last eye exchanges with anyone reveal anything to you? Could you have known what was in store? How I wish that the moment you last saw me and my children, one for the first time and one for the second, will eternally be recollected and labelled as being healthy, pure, real.

Yet I now realize that those last few hours will always be tainted, instead, with the purely plausible possibility that the glances you received were actually “false“, Queen Mum, that those duplicitous eyes hid a knowledge that I actually didn’t discover until months later, a knowledge that you were to never know. It was a plan, Mother.

Did you know that there was perhaps a plan lurking behind those eyes, eyes that also last glanced your way that day as you sat in that sordid chair, taking your last, difficult breaths? Maybe God, for some unknown, ungodly reason, wanted you to be cognizant of the reality of what was to be, so you actually saw through that veil during your last hour or two. Perhaps that knowledge before you passed was God’s way of ensuring that you’d eternally be able to support me–because you knew what would transpire once you were gone from the physical world. Maybe you were aware of the plan because you saw through the veil.

I know from our conversations years ago that you had hope, but you were a realist, Mom. You’d been through similar tough times, too. You’d been there, done that. However, Mom, you’d still be happy to know I tried. Though I failed, too, Mom.

I am sorry to you for that.

Mothers all, naturally, want their sons to live that special, romantic dream of a happy mutual existence. Yet obstacles were immense. Hurdles were too frequent, left untended, left untraversed, left in the way–perhaps deliberately.

I could write a book about all that that entailed, but suffice it to say, the time came. Thankfully, you didn’t see the end, Mom. If you had, you’d not be happy with… and about… well, you know whom I mean.

I guarantee.

If we’re talking about an in-this-world plane of existence, you most likely weren’t privy to any “reality”, whatever reality is. Even if you received some sort of spiritual message from above about what truths the future would hold, right before you left this earth, you perhaps were not required to actually deal with the tangible aspects of it all. You were so drugged up to cover your pain, you most likely weren’t able to make such judgments in your final moments.

Deep inside, I wish you did caste a final judgment, Mother, for I would NOT want you to eternally have any positive notions of said beings.

Part of the reason you weren’t privy to it all was that advice was given, Mom, to me. The advice offered was that if other aspects of my life were to finally end, things should wait, wait until after seeing you for the last time. Wait until that last trip was made. The accompanying explanation was that you’d not know about the pending demise and that would be better for you. You were already suffering, but adding to that pain by giving you new knowledge of such difficulties and the seemingly inevitable end would have been unfair, it seemed. At least that was what I was told.

Kind-hearted advice it was, right?

Now, I beg to differ.

Was it advice with some undertone of some prior knowledge of what was to actually come, with plans waiting in the wings? If hiding it from you was done for that reason, instead, i.e., ostensibly waiting so you weren’t to be hurt by the downward spiral that carried all to the breaking point, that would have been despicably devious.

Despicably devious, indeed.

However, I’d now like to argue that you were saved from such knowledge that would have troubled you so, intentionally, for other reasons. Quite possibly, keeping the news from you wasn’t to save you, Queen Mum. Allowing you to pass into the next world without deliberately telling you of the downfall was done to save someone else and to give you the wrong impression. Perhaps other faces were saved. Not yours.

You left this worldly existence, and you were intentionally deceived to cause you to believe something else, entirely. The plan was that your impressions of certain people were to be eternally positive (though I hope God gave you some pre-emptive knowledge of the truth).

It now seems that the delay for such conclusive actions was, perhaps, on purpose. Ten years ago, I never would have thought that. Nor three years ago.

Would I now think that? In a heartbeat, Mom.

In fact, that it was all purposefully perpetrated is perfectly plausible. If you’d witnessed such behavior, such antics, such decisions being made and acted out… you’d have been hurtin’ for certain, Queen Mum. Yet it wouldn’t have been the mere decline and conclusion of so many years that would have caused you suffering. It was more than that, that was waiting in the wings.

Greater actions loomed ahead.

Maybe sheltering you from the knowledge of the pending end wasn’t the real reason for the delay tactic, Mother. Maybe it wasn’t simply about protecting you from the negative emotions caused by such unravellings. Maybe there was something more to it, Queen Mom, for someone else, entirely. If there were other intentions in providing such a plan, labeling it as “despicably devious” would be an understatement.

Mother, if you had known all that was on the horizon, you may have changed your mindset, your opinions, your impressions. In fact, you most likely would have taken back those kind words you’d said all along.

I’d like to think, knowing your personality, that you’d have offered other words, instead. Actually, I know you would have. Nowadays, I’d love to hear you utter such sentiments, for you’d be hitting the nail on the head with whatever select terms you’d chose, Queen Mum.

Alas, your impressions stayed with you on your deathbed, Queen Mom. Good impressions. That’s what you were left with. That’s what you left with. That was the purpose for the delay. Maybe your eternal mindset, if there is such a thing, was deviously manipulated because the goal was about saving face–for someone else.

Not about you, Mom. That’s so wrong on so many levels.

Your being troubled about what the future held was NOT a concern. The concern was about someone’s impression staying the same in your eyes, making sure it stayed positive before you departed.

Since the advice was to wait until you were gone, you left with a false understanding of all. That benefitted others. Not you.

It was all about you showing your approval, acceptance, and even your love until the ultimate end, when you wouldn’t have, otherwise, Queen Mum, if you were alive to see what had been perpetrated since. You would have shown disdain if you knew the reality of what lay ahead, not just towards one being, but a few.

Knowledge of certain people you loved (certain wee ones, that is), enduring what they did for half a year, and your knowing what I’ve been through, would have driven you to destroy your positive image of… well, the impression of all that you were left with, purposefully.

I’ll never know, of course, Mother, if you now know otherwise. I’d love to get a signal from you somehow. Just rattle the table, Mom. Tell me you know the truth. Tell me you understand what I’ve gone through. How I wish you could, for I could use that extra support.

How I’d love to explain those false impressions to you now, Mom, and to have you know the truth. If I knew of tangible proof that you were listening, Mother, somehow, I’d share my thoughts with you. I’d love to, but I cannot, afraid that you’re not able to “read” such a message here. Yet, in my heart, I’d like to believe you already do know, Queen Mum. You’ve watched from above, or from all around, whatever your beliefs were regarding where you thought you’d now be.

You’re shaking your head in disappointment, right? I hear the “Tssk, tssk, tssks…” from down here, Mom. When the wind whispers, and I hear distant, barely audible murmurings passing my ear, it is you, right?

Impressions, Queen Mum; that’s what they were. That’s what was intended. Impressions.

Don’t let them mislead you, wherever you are. I implore you. Don’t let them mislead you.

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