I will no longer criticize my parents in print.  They don’t deserve my vitriol.  And how can I attack them for not being perfect when I am so far from reaching that ideal?  It is time for me to let them go.  I am too old to keep blaming them for the problems I encounter, and I am getting a stiff neck from always looking back to find the source of my own issues.

I have had enough therapy to know that only I am accountable for my decisions and life choices.  Once I asked my psychiatrist who gets better and who does not.  She answered that the patients who profited from her help were the ones who owned their own problems and that blaming other people and not taking responsibility for their actions kept the rest sick.  Insight and self-awareness are the keys to recovery.

My mother and father provided me with a charmed life.  They sent me to Park School and then to Barnard College, thus giving me an excellent education.  They paid for my tennis lessons, and trips abroad.  And when I decided to get married, they gave me a wedding which was lavish and enviable. They never said no to my financial requests when I needed help.

My father, who endured his own childhood hurts,introduced me to my first editor at The Baltimore Sun where I published both freelance and assigned articles.Before the Internet, I delivered those writings in person to editors in the Calvert street offices.

And my mother, who suffered through her father’s suicide, lived her life graciously in a manner which taught me the meaning of unconditional love.  She never complained, was not bitter, and didn’t ask me to soothe her wounds.

My mother died thirty-two years ago, and my father passed away in 2005.  It is time for me to let them rest in peace.




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