( A true life story)
Share this with someone who still has the privilege of being called “child”
Life has a way of catching us off guard, rushing us through routines, choking us with responsibilities, and distracting us from the quiet cries of those who once carried us.
I watched something sacred unfold yesterday. My friend’s mother had just undergone a painful surgery after an elevator accident, and I was asked to help.
When I saw her frail, yet heavy with years and sorrow sitting in that wheelchair with her body writhing in pain, I felt helpless.
But then, something unforgettable happened. Her son, my friend, walked up to her, held her close despite the weight and discomfort, and lifted her with such care and quiet urgency. It wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t loud but it was love in its purest, rawest form. As one of the paramedics whispered, “This is what good sons do.” It echoed through my soul. I choked back tears.
In that moment, I said to myself, “If I don’t carry them now, I may never get the chance to.”
Our parents are aging quietly. Their backs bent from years of labor, their hearts bruised from life’s many betrayals, their hands wrinkled from holding us through storms.
Many of them now live in emotional wheelchairs, tired, aching, but still looking up to us with love.
My father’s hands used to carry me without hesitation; now, it is my turn to carry him without excuse.
They may not say it, but they’re waiting for a visit, a call, a soft laugh, a memory relived.
The truth is, no one else will lift them for us. The world is too busy. The love they poured into us is now a debt we must joyfully repay not just in money, but in presence, patience, and honor.
I refuse to let the ones who raised me feel abandoned by the one they raised.”
So today, I beg you: look well after your parents. Hug them a little tighter. Listen a little longer. Give a little more even if it’s just your time.
My wealth means nothing if my parents feel poor in my love.
These days won’t last forever. One day, the chair will be empty. The call will go unanswered. And all we’ll have left is what we did or didn’t do.
I don’t want my greatest regret to be love I didn’t show when I still had the chance.
If your parents are still alive, please go see them. Pick up the phone. Help them into the car. Play their music. Let them talk. Laugh. And if you can, hold them tightly and lift them again not just with your hands, but with your heart. That’s what good sons, and daughters, do.
