My mother will soon turn ninety, which is more than the vast majority of the Portuguese population may aspire to live to and in her case even more taking into account the rather "unexpected" circumstances and setbacks she has had to face so far.
I do not recall my father having moved on with his free and adventurous life leaving behind three children for her to see to, whom she never had much of a close relationship with until much later, though she provided us with every possible need, from a supposedly good academic education to the most unusual needs, so long as they were culturally accepted or knowledge related.
Her affection was clearly funnelled to her patients, whom she dedicated her life to, though later in life and especially after having been diagnosed with a lymphoma, she started to finally show her frailties and tender side ... the one we hadn't realised she had.
The fear I felt whenever she looked at me as a child subsided in time and the moment I started to understand that "iron lady" look wasn't but impersonated, so as not to break in front of us.
I admire her profoundly for her straightforwardness (clear-cut and blunt in its approach); her reasoning and clarity of thought (leaving no margin for doubt); her physical and "mental" strength (irrespective of the blows she was and still is subjected to); her sound judgement of character; her cultural background (backed by an irrefutable solid knowledge); her sense of humour (surfacing in rather undesirable moments, making it sound some metaphorical reprisal); her decision taking (always based on principles of honesty and justice) ...
... I could go on and on forever ... and possibly end up not saying what can be said or must be said ... the fact that she literally sacrificed herself (and us to a certain extent) not to go mad because of my father's absence ... the man she fell for, loved and was loyal to all her life ... to the point of accepting him back sixteen years after he left ... without having asked any questions nor imposed any restrictions ... until the day he parted ...
She has lately been telling me she regrets not having the physical command she used to and not being able to do the things the way she had in the past (though she is still practising medicine and is independent).
She clearly wants to go on living ... and from time to time I feel she gets sad as if fearing the end catching up on her ...
I wish I could tell her she will be around for sometime (still) ...
I wish I could tell her we would like to see a lot more of her ...
I wish ...
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