MY MOM LOVES ME. I LOVE MY MOM

My mom loves me. I love my mom. With these and many other similar phrases I was taught to read and write the Salesian Sisters of Castellar street in Seville when he was 4 years and then Lasallian Brothers, De La Salle Brothers, with 5 years. then it had to be early by force because studies began long before now had to start reading and writing very soon. I also spent a year with a private teacher and other students in a nursery. I do not remember what it was called the teacher, but she had a good relationship, but not with the Salesian Sisters, which told them he did not want to write because I was not wanted. So I was rebellious at the beginning of my life. They were stories that told me my mother, who lived all my things as their own because I was always worried about me. He was always on me, stubborn that was happy above all.

She continually showed me his love. With kisses, caresses, hugs. I was however very unfriendly and hardly showed love to my mother. For a long time I felt guilty for being so cold but fortunately my mother got over the guilt complex with a lot of will and with the help of psychotherapy. It was so hard to be loving as I thought. Now I remember you and I can say that I love on the fourth anniversary of your death will meet next January. Four years already without you, but you otherwise. Because I believe in the hereafter, I think that there is another life that will give us, I will give you the opportunity to compensate me for my mistakes, which are many. And those who still have me committed. An article is the least you deserve for how good you were always with me.

I remember you've always been very patient with me. Small, and have a good memory for it, I stood on the roof and I asomabas from the parapet into the street to distract me with pedestrians and cars so he could eat. Tardabas forever to feed me. I took a century for each scoop. And I also remember how much crying in the crib and how he always had to end up in bed with Dad and you to sleep. I guess annoyed, but I was very small. I always my favorite comics you bought to get used to reading and to develop my imagination because I almost always said he wanted to be a writer. And I started writing with 7 years. A rather scribbling. And you you understood very well. I have given in this life to many things, but all that has always been true to myself is Literature. And you never put my objections to it.

I always remember you gave up for me at school because of problems with peers and teachers. And I remember when was the high school wanted to leave in the second year and between you and the Head of Studies convencisteis me not to leave him. That made picked more confidence in myself and draw ten plates of honor ten subjects in the third year. And four salient and three plates of honor in COU. In Selectivity I took a note of 8.1.Y started studying Journalism and Philology, but I did not feel well the nerves and I did not feel well without being able to write. I left journalism in third grade and Philology at first. You understood it very well. You know that the literature was basic to me and I could not leave her. I worked as a waiter. After the National Statistics Institute. And finally in the Ministry of Finance, where I quoted to have the pension that now I have and that allows me to live.

With seven years I also began to show symptoms of disease and nervous, which I had inherited it my father, like my sisters. And you took me to Jesus D. Romero, the neuropsychiatrist who treated my father. And after the Red Cross to Dr. Cabello. And then Dr. Hernandez Deeds, who works at the Mental Health Center that now I'm going to see the doctor Martin. And you took me even professor of psychiatry at the University of Seville, with how expensive it cost. I then went out with a girl who had schizophrenia. And the psychiatrist told me I could not help someone sick if I too was also needed help. That has never been forgotten because it is quite true.

I remember over the years and learned to show affection and I invited you and Dad to go to Lanjarón to take the waters every year. Dad lived that with extra enthusiasm and served him take the water much for your liver problems and nerve problems. And to you served for your rheumatoid arthritis that you caused a tremendous pain and swelling like the hands of a brutal manner. I suffered much for you then and understood how much you had suffered for me since childhood.

I can now say openly that my mom loves me, I love my mom.

At present despite your death because to me you still exist in another form of life I can not explain why only be achieved by faith. You recited every night, I remember well, but never ended up believing in another life that was not it. I'll see you when I die.

I was strong when you died. I saw the stiff, cold funeral home, with a pupa that you had done on the lip days earlier. I was able to see you dead. Then I was able to hold the requiem mass and the parade of condolence from the audience. And I was able to hold the funeral and how the builders dammed the niche with cement and bricks. It was a very cold day and rain. I remembered a scene from the movie The Barefoot Contessa with Ava Gardner and Humphrey Bogart. The film always present in my life even in the most critical moments. In this film there was also a scene of a funeral with rain and open umbrella. It was all very cold. The worst was then come home and find he was alone, without you, and forever. They had been met verses of Jorge Manrique. Life in a round point is finished. Since then he had to learn to live alone and without you, that was the worst.

But before your death from Parkinson's and Alzheimer you enjoyed because I tried to make it up to my coldness teenager. Took you to all the places you wanted: to see sing Raphael, to see Los Morancos de Triana, Isla Magica, the Cycle Theatre and School, the International Puppet Festival of Seville, the Feria, Circus, to Easter, etc ... I do enough for you as you had done for me since childhood, from the parapet on the roof where you gave me to eat. Now I was the one who gave you food to you. They had turned the tables and I made up my coldness and immature teenager. And every day you read your beloved ABC newspaper. You tragabas it whole.

I was more of El Correo de Andalucía for having worked on it. Also the New Andalusia, which had disappeared. I brought flowers occasionally, Ferrero Rocher chocolates that loved you, etc ... It was easier than I thought the show affection, love, affection. And so it was gradually compensating my teenage fault.

When you died I lived with a woman who left me when I took a major depression for your departure at 80 years. I had to then enter and was the first and only admission to a psychiatric unit of my life, specifically in the Virgen Macarena Hospital. There I spent 15 days. There I mourn your death. There I met a psychiatrist who was interested in me and put the treatment that I have now and I'm pulling it. You already know how are diseases of nerves because you grabbed a good depression with Dad's death in 1992. know the ups and downs that has the soul when holstered by depression. In the hospital I became stronger and was able to put all the clothes in order, clean house and start living alone. And I'm alone since. I had a recent relationship with a girl but has gone wrong and now I'm tired of failures and would rather settle with my solitude. Nor it is tragic and is bearable.

You always told me that was your favorite son, causing jealousy of my sisters. They were always jealous of me. You always told me when he went out at night I called you because you cared for me. And you asked me to call when I was traveling to my two favorite destinations: Madrid and Arcos de la Frontera. You were afraid for me and thought I was going to pass something that almost always traveled alone. He had always been very lonely, although he had good friends, but now the disease had gotten me into a tremendous loneliness, but that did not prevent her to be happy. Occasionally I am traveling with my son. You wanted it so much. I also know that was your favorite grandchild.

Perhaps because it was the first or maybe because it was my son. I do not know. But you always wondered the child, how he was, how he was studies. I'm living things as if it were yesterday. But it's been almost four years of your death and the void does not fill anyone or anything, but I hope in the afterlife. Do not forget.

Now you will have seen that there was another life, much more beautiful than this. And eternal. There is time for everything. Wait for me in memory once wrote in a poem dedicated to you. Well now I repeat: to wait for me in memory to wait for me in memory, all that we live together, a piece goes this article. I could tell many things about you, about me, about us. Do not stop. A memoir gives to our relationship. It was intense and had everything from the worst to the best.

Now my son behaves with me also a little coldly, but someday understand that it is not necessary to be so cold with a parent. Nobody is perfect and understand that love a father is so important, for example, how to love his girlfriend. They are simply different loves. And it is a matter of time, knowing distribute the time. It is a matter of investing the energy in the best possible way among all people want.

I, mother, you just wish you well.

You're happy where you are right now. Make you feel at ease. You have patience until I get there. Less is left. Every day that passes is one day less to our reunion. And that I wish you, dear readers, to be patient with loved ones and faith in another dimension where loved ones who are no longer impatient waiting for us to arrive. Be happy because faith long ago. Health and luck.