The process of aging is very unkind to those who do not care for themselves. My parents' rate of aging in the last 6 years of their lives were shocking. They must have aged 20 -30 years in that 6 years. Their spirits went even further in the ditch.

My in-laws who are older than my parents have a steady rate of aging. They went through bumps in their lives like everyone else. Some bumps are more brutal than others. But they chugged along. My mother in law fell. Broke her knee cap. Was immobilized for months. At the same time, the nerves on the blind side of her eye started to rejuvenate, causing much pain. There were times when she just could not take it. But she took it like a soldier and it took more than a year, before all is much better than before. My father in law had a break down a few years ago. He needed medication to stabilize his mood and he eventually recovered. Nowadays he tells the grand kids, "remember when grandpa was crazy?"

Truth is, the body will manifest the deprivation of the soul. My mother's soul was empty and it showed. Her hatred towards life and her very own family took it's toll upon herself.

I was browsing on my brother's site and saw pictures of her posted about 3 months before she passed. She was so frail. The picture was taken in the hospital. Taken with her golden grandson. She had her hand wrapped on his wrist. Clinging on to what was left at the moment. I am sad for her. That it ended that way. The image is very confusing to my current state. Compassion for her is something I detest. Yet, as a human, I cannot allow myself not to feel compassion. I would for some stranger on the street. Why should I be resistant to feeling compassion towards the person who raised me? Maybe because the only time this person do not spit venom at me is when she is no longer able to. She literally took it to the very end. She spat at me with the last remaining breath that she had. Maybe that's why I feel detach from that image of that very very old and frail woman. A woman whom I called my mother for many years. A woman that I used to love. A woman that I wanted to please. A woman who was my world. A woman who rejected me. A woman who hated me first. A woman who hurt me deliberately. A woman who disowned me.

So, how am I suppose to feel towards this woman in return? No matter how frail the image of that woman is, I know who she is like nobody does. That's why it wasn't my hand that she was holding in that picture. That's why I was not the last person she sees as she caught her last breath. Maybe I don't need to feel anything at all. Maybe I should view that image like any old posters along the side of the street. But I can't. I am a person with a living soul.