This is my mother, Althea June Bassett. She died when I was nine years old and she was 40. It was a cold day in February 1970. She died in her sleep. One day she was there and the next she was gone forever. For the next two years, before my father remarried, I was a motherless child. But in truth I was a motherless child my whole early childhood because my mother was plagued with mental illness, which included bouts of severe depression and delusions. So you could say she was there but not there, though she was there at times - and for those passing moments of clarity and love I am thankful. I am grateful that she brought me into the world and struggled on doing what she could with what she had in the time that she had.
At some point we realize that we are all broken in very deep and critical ways. This brokenness we live with is what we have in common with all of humanity. What few people ever get a-hold of is the truth that all real strength is somehow born out of the places where we are most vulnerable and incomplete. It is these very missing pieces we struggle with on a daily basis that become the windows for God to come into our lives. It is also in these places where we are left wanting, that we have the opportunity to bring others into our lives. There are people all around you that are just waiting for you to ask them for help - and in doing so you give them the gift of your own genuine need for the help of a friend. Down the road it will be your turn.