To mother ofYa here recently, once again, fruitlessly reflected: why it is so madly difficult, it is even impossible, to tell about the love and appreciation to the hotly beloved mother, not to mention that to tell more about it than in three words? What it for such excessive sons bashfulness, inability to speak about what it is necessary to shout of, at all remarkable ability to argue in general on all subjects, that to whom we are obliged by much and who, remaining in this life, gives us so far such chance to pronounce these words of love and appreciation not over a sepulchral hillock, and in vyplakanny for us, useless, eyes?
Just imagine, but the first more - less adult understanding of a small share of the fact that made for me mother my mother, concerned my mind which is already quite not bad grounded by various theories, only years in twenty five … In twenty five years I for the first time seriously felt in a debt to this woman … Before - almost anything. Ate, slept which - as studied, worked, did not work, sometimes got into any troubles. Had any claims: not dolyubil, not doponyal, did not give the rest …
Needed ten more years that gradual understanding that if not my mother, me five times could already not be on this earth, I am glad ten I could end up behind the bars, in hospital, in irreparable trouble, hundred times to become angry, begin to hate, to do nonsenses is only what I know about. And how many still it is necessary to learn?
The “congenital dislocation of a hip“ which is given rise with the diagnosis and a sentence “is not subject to treatment, lameness for the rest of life“, me, thanks to the mother and contrary to doctors, nevertheless was succeeded to learn to go without crutches. Suffocating asthma and tonsillitis when half-lives you are in a preunconscious state, choking at night, - and again incredible patience of my mother, her leaving, care and attention.
When to me it is executed fifteen, we move to the new area. Around boys on concepts. These traveling. These criminal. These already on the account. “Vasek, fall on bark“. “You who on life, Vasek?“. “Vasek, a jamb you will be?“. I cease to study. From almost excellent student - in poor students. Just I cease to go to school. And absolute indifference to everything. I for hair am pulled out by my books … and my mother. Talks to someone. Bribes someone. Threatens someone.
And in 92 - m when everything falls around, in eighteen, all - having stubborn decided “to become the man“ and to go to serve to army though “what for to you this mushtra if there is an opportunity to otkosit? “, and, having dived with the head into all that Post-Soviet foul place from which there was only one name when for the first half a year my three companions when officers in drunk waste plunder the remains of that army silly perish, and “grandfathers“ as rams cut young people, I who was finally disappointed in correctness of the choice the idealist start going to absence without leave, I show non-obedience by the senior on a rank, I do not observe subordination and, finally, I am threatened by a disciplinary battalion.
For what, however, I do not understand. I in general, little understand. The only thing that I see, is that it - not the service and life is unfair. That we are robed. Beat. Scoff. But you will not explain to people of it. And therefore - a disciplinary battalion. And therefore I again, by hook or by crook, for a collar, from trouble am dragged by mother. I perekantovyvatsya in hospital, I am transferred to other part where I which - as I domatyvat the term and safely “lean back“.
The same year, incidentally rendered in some brothel, and without having found a key from a door, in drunk waste, I am enough the axe and I destroy everything on the way. To the right - on the left, to the right - on the left, up - down, up - down. I am so angry for the whole world, on these smoked muzzles that it is ready to chop up all of them in cabbage …
there Comes the militia. The apartment is crushed in chips. But on my good luck, nobody suffered. Took away my hand of wasps of a smertoubiystvo … whether an angel … whether mother … A miracle in which I do not trust. And again mother asks for me, and the hostess of the apartment - a brothel withdraws the application.
A year later indicative attempt of a pseudo-suicide. On horse-radish? And goodness knows, in twenty years? Just you are necessary to nobody and nobody is necessary to you. There is no love. Friends are traitors. Life - shit. But it is so easy and noble not to live. As the same venerable to Socrates and Seneca. An edge on veins if there is no tsikuta, and … Only mother prevented
. Pulled out from a next world, and I even did not tell thanks to it. Became angry even more.
Later, however, something condescended. Roofing felts God`s spirit … whether mother. Became reasonable. Moreover as! Found work. Moreover what! Began to earn. Moreover how many! Affairs went uphill. Of course, thanks to only efforts and talents.
Studied. Mother did not disturb. Even when without work stayed at home. Studied all textbooks. For fifteen hours a day. During all the time mother never reproached me.
There was a lot everything. And it for what mother could be proud of the son. And it from what ordinary people very easily become an inveterate drunkard. Leave on a roadside. Disappear from this life, having been satiated with it. As my friends - the coeval Rusik and Mer. As schoolmates Serik and Kitayets. As neighbors uncle Seryozha and aunt Larisa. All of them are absent any more, and only the few were more senior than me present.
Friends changed with a guard clearness, and is frequent, under a fast curtain from big words, were only to please to themselves drinking companions. Darlings - are more rare, but too were or in prudent iuda, or simply very busy. And only the unique little man, that, imperfect, with the unhappy life, unfortunate in own way to which I all life had some claims the one who caused in me the most mixed feelings, with almost hatred before admiration, from angry indignation to feeling of rest and security which to me constantly prevented to live as I wanted, got on back of me, I grabbed breasts and by force returned from the sky on the earth, was always zrimo and invisibly near me. As guardian angel. And for it there was, never, no question I am rich or is poor, beautiful or ugly, clever or silly as hundred thousand stoppers … One was important for it: that I only lived.
I grew up long ago. Which - as from uneven cubes of the I put the life. It became imperceptibly independent and self-sufficient. It was rather happy. Achieved the dream. Earned money. And long ago I do without the mother`s help and already I slowly help it. But only now I learn to love and be really it it rather grateful.
At first sight, the maternal love is silly. It is silly and blind. As any love because in it at most irrational and at least rational is silly and blind. And meanwhile it is simply unconditional. It is the only type of love which does not lay down any conditions to the object. The love of the man to the woman is to some extent conditional. Love of the woman to the man - especially.
Questions of benefit and usefulness are alien to maternal love. And it is only at first sight blind and silly. It, in natural irratsio, the only condition also puts that certainty. According to the second if to peer more fixedly, it can be found out that in it irratsio more deep sense, just not subject to mediocre rational minds is initially put. That case when reasonable and observation abilities are limited in the understanding and cannot look for a side of legal.
Mother … the first word which the person pronounces. Also the last is frequent. Only, natural, without any etymology the word which natural and inexplicably arises on the child`s lips. The word, without the translation clear in all languages of the world.
Yesterday, at last, having taken courage, I told the mother as strongly I love it …