Adult Orphan

Having two parents alive in this world may be compared to riding a tricycle. There we are, pedaling and steering, and there are two wheels of support behind us. Now, it may be that one of the wheels is bigger than the other, or flatter, or badly shaped. A parent may be unhealthy, dysfunctional in some way, or still be alive but not a part of our lives. Because we none of us have two perfect parents, we all have to work at finding the balance point that allows us to move forward, and most of us do a pretty good job of it one way or another. 

When a parent dies, they are completely gone from this world and our lives, and they will never come back. (I speak as to adults, not to young children whose remaining parent may find a loving spouse that can SOMETIMES replace the deceased parent.) I say, when a parent dies, we lose our balance. Even if we have not had daily or even regular contact with that parent, just knowing that they exist, somewhere on the planet, changes things in a way we do not guess until they are gone. And the older we are, the longer we have lived in the world with two parents, the more difficult and startling the transition when one of them dies. Whether that death is expected and long in coming, or quite sudden, makes little difference. Beforehand, when caring for a sick parent, one thinks one can prepare, that it makes a difference to see the inevitable approaching, but it doesn’t.

Then, when the second parent dies, we are really on our own, and finding the balance point is a lot trickier, just as riding a unicycle is very different from riding a tricycle. This is why family is so important. 

Siblings are not parents, even when they sometimes get sucked into a parenting role due to the vacuum created by a missing, ailing, or deceased parent. No, our siblings are on their own tricycles, as are our friends. They may come along side and, with an outstretched arm, help hold us up, help keep us balanced, and we may do the same for them, but they are not our wheels. 

However, there may be other wheels in our lives: children. We become the support wheels for our children. We are pulled along by their energy, and steered in the direction of their dreams. 

We can do little, in this regard, when it comes to our own parents: they are who they are, and we'd like to think they did the best they could. Maybe they did and maybe they didn't. I'm sure we could all wish they were something other than, something more than, what they were, somehow. But, as I say, we cannot change them. That's another reason I like this metaphor. The back wheels are behind and beneath us. We cannot simultaneously pedal forward, steering and making significant progress on our way, while trying to "fix" one of those tires. This is not to say we should not care for them, but we must accept them as they are. We cannot change them. 

What we can change is ourselves, at least to some degree. We can work to be thoughtful, useful parents, round and balanced wheels to our children. Let us hold up our share of the weight, creating as little drag as possible. We may, of course, stop flat when we see fire on the tracks. If we still have one or two of our own parents, while we have children of our own we are doubly blessed. It is true, we are stretched and pulled in different directions. Nevertheless, we are far more balanced than we realize.

Those who, through no fault of their own, must pedal along with seriously defective or missing wheels, while finding themselves the support wheel for the next generation should have our compassion and support.