My Mother : My Life

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My mother comes to visit me. My parents live in Tokyo and I don�t see them very often. They are responsible for getting me into the treatment center. I haven�t always liked them, and I have hurt them over and over and over through the course of my life, but they have always loved me. I am lucky to have them.
My mother sees my apartment, laughs. She asks me where I sleep, where I sit, I tell her the floor. She shakes her head and says not good, James, not good. She calls someone in Michigan, which is where they used to live, they still have a house it sits empty now. She asks the person about furniture in storage, how easy is it to access, she asks if they can send me a bed and a desk and a table. She hangs up, says I�ll have a bed and a desk and a table in a few days.
We go downtown. We walk down Michigan Avenue. My mother and father are both from suburban Chicago, met here, were married here. They didn�t have any money when they were married, they spent their honeymoon in a downtown hotel. As we walk, my mother points out restaurants they went to, parks where they sat, held hands, kissed, stores where they wandered, looking at things they couldn�t afford, hoping someday, someday. It�s nice to hear her memories, I like that she�s sharing them with me. It feels like a door opening, a door to her, to my father, to their life. It�s a door that I have never acknowledged before, a door that I�m happy to step through, a door I�m fortunate to have still be open.
We go to lunch. A
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