On Saturday, April 9, 1994, I watched my mother take her last breath.

Through her life my mother had been let down by the men in her life. My father divorced her a few years after marriage, shortly after her second child was born. Her second husband, although a good man, was addicted to alcohol, leaving her neglected and abandoned most of the years of her second marriage. And I, her firstborn child and the apple of her eye, left the country when I was sixteen and never returned to live near her.

Even her God, who looked like an unforgiving, judgmental man in her mind, abandoned her through her church. Because she was divorced she was not allowed to take communion during Mass. She sat in the back pew in shame, and tried to reconcile why God no longer loved her.

It’s no wonder that when she took her last breath on that Saturday afternoon, she had just barely turned fifty-two years of age.

Her Secret

Two years before her death, she could no longer keep her secret. One day, she dropped a glass on the cement floor in the kitchen and it shattered. My stepfather quickly came to her aid, asking, “Honey, what’s wrong?” She burst into tears and said, “I could not grip the glass because of the lump under my arm.” By then the breast cancer was far advanced. There was a mastectomy, chemotherapy, and many months of a life of suffering that she said was worse than the illness she had borne so long in silence.

Only nine days after I played ‘Happy Birthday’ for her on my keyboard, which I had brought with me all the way to Venezuela from my home in San Francisco, she passed away. I believe that what killed my mother was not cancer. I believe with all my heart that what killed my mother was a severe lack of unconditional love in her life. Since that day I have asked myself, “Why do we do this to each other? Why would my father leave my mother with a baby in her arms? Why would she then meet and marry a man, who although a good stepfather to me, wasn’t a good husband to her? Why did her own God forsake her through the teachings of her religion?”

Mom was a good woman. She was a good mother. I was born premature and so small that I could not suckle. She would soak a cotton ball in her own breastmilk and drip it into my mouth every two hours around the clock for several weeks until I was strong enough to nurse at her breast. When I was a young boy, my father wanted full custody of my sister and me. Mom said, “Go to him.” I said, “Mom, why do you want to give us up to Dad?” She said, “I will miss you, but your dad makes good money and he can give you all that you need.” She sacrificed having us with her at home so that we could have all of our needs met. And later when I called her from college to say, “Mom, I’m not coming home. I’m staying where I am”, she choked back her tears and said, “Son, whatever makes you happy makes me happy.”

Take Care of Each Other

I wonder if a woman who gave so much died at such a young age because nobody gave back to her. We all have a huge need for unconditional love; we are starved for it. In Christianity, all of the writings about Jesus, all of his teachings and miracles and commands, can be condensed into one sentence: Take care of each other.

Do we take care of each other? Or do we fall prey to our own fears? Do we think, there might not be enough to go around, I may not be able to handle the situation, I don’t really know what to do?

When we live from fear and pain, fear and pain are what we share with each other. @williamagill (Click to Tweet!)

When the heart has had its fill of fear and pain, the body says, “I’ve had enough. I’m checkin’ out.” While I respect the difficult experiences of those who suffer from illnesses, I wonder if the original source of illness could be pain and suffering endured for too long, even if it is endured silently.

We can begin again. We can draw a line in the sand and say, “From now on, I’m going to share unconditional love with everyone.” Nobody has to die at fifty-two. Nobody has to live with pain and suffering if we take care of each other. The biggest realization that came to me when my mother passed away was that I could have made a difference. When she died, I held her hand and said, “Mom, forgive me, for I did not know how to love you.”

You can do that in person, by phone, in a letter, or even in your heart if the person is unavailable to you. Are you willing to do the work of learning how to love and forgive someone, anyone, everyone? The quality of your life is dependent upon doing your own spiritual work. No one else can do it for you. Not your minister, not your guru or mentor, not even your mother.

I find that as I become more loving I become less afraid of being hurt, less afraid of not having enough to go around, less afraid of being unable to control a situation. As I give more unconditional love a wonderful thing happens – I find more unconditional love in my life.

How Life Would Have Been

If my father had been loving to my mother, I wonder how life would have been different for him, for her, and for my sister and me. A few weeks after Mom’s death, my father said, “If there is one thing I regret it is that I left your mother.” He fell in love with her when she was a young girl and he waited patiently until she was old enough to marry.

If my stepfather had grown up with unconditional love in his own life, I wonder if he could have honored my mother as a woman, not a wife but a human being, and if they could have had a better life together.

If I had honored my mother as an individual, not just ‘Mom’ but a beautiful woman, a person with dreams and desires and a job to do in this life, how much richer could our relationship have been?

How often do we neglect those closest to us? How often do we forget that every person in the Universe is on a journey; has likes and dislikes, goals and fears, pain and joy, wishes and experiences very similar to our own? If I had seen my mother as a woman on her own path, could I have helped her, could I have made a difference? I think I would have.

The day will come for my own death. Whether from old age, illness, or some trauma, as my body is dying I want my consciousness to be alive and well. As I make my transition I want to know that I have left nothing undone from this lifetime. I want to know I have forgiven all that needs forgiving; I have loved all that needs loving. Then my transition from this world to the next (and I know there is more after this life) will be in peace.

I do not want to die as my mother did, with pain and sorrow and regret etched on my face. I do not want my body to decay while I am still walking because my consciousness is so ill. I don’t want anyone to do anything against himself or herself in the name of religion or morality or responsibility. Take care of each other first and foremost. That is really what putting God first means: To take care of each other.

Thank You, Mom

Thank you, Mom, wherever you are, for all that you were in my life, for feeding me with that cotton ball to keep me alive, for giving us up to Dad so that we could have all the things we needed, for letting me make my choices as I moved on to make my life far away from you. And Mom, wherever you are, please forgive me, for I did not know how to love you.

Forgive yourselves. Forgive each other. Learn unconditional love from your mothers. Learn to say, “I care about you, just because.”

William A. Gill’s spiritual work focuses on speaking, teaching, and coaching, offering inspirational talks, small-group workshops, and private counseling. His personal interests include public speaking, music, aviation, hiking, and cinematography. William is committed to the study, practice, and teaching of unconditional love. He currently resides in Vero Beach, Florida. You can follow him on Twitter.