The Right to Choose

     Without any doubt in mind, I would rather make my own choices rather than have someone make them for me.  I have to admit; when I was younger that wasn’t always the case.   Although I always pretty much did my own thing and never went along with the crowd while growing up, I did bow to my mom in a lot of the decision making.  I let her decide and sway my opinion in just about everything including marriage.  My first marriage was an utter nightmare from hell.  

      I had never really dated anyone in high school, and when someone finally paid me more than a passing glance, then decided he wanted to marry me, my mom was all for it.  I figured she knew what was best for me. After all, she had known me my whole life and she liked him.  In hindsight, that is the fact that dominates my memories of that time period the most.  Even though I had clear misgivings about him, my mom liked him and I trusted her judgment at the time.   On the day of my wedding, I didn’t want to go through with it.  He drank, smoked, and did drugs and I didn’t.  I still don’t.  However, the guests were in their pews, the money had been spent, and my mom was so sure everything would work out alright.  I should have followed my gut and ran like hell in the opposite direction.

        When my mom died I was liberated in a way.  Finally I was allowed to step out from behind her shadow and make my own choices.  With each small success and choice, I gained a little more confidence.  I also realized I liked making my own decisions. Sometimes the only person who really knows what is best for you is you.  One thing about it, if it is your own choice and it turns out to be a bad one, you can only blame yourself.  There is no “she or he made me do it!!” or finger pointing.   It is a wonderful thing to be able to choose what  to wear, what  to eat, or where to go. To be honest, I let others sway my decision to write in the beginning.  I wasn’t all that sure I could write, or that I wanted to.  Then I tried it, and it kind of grew on me. Now it is almost as essential as breathing. Who would have thought?

       The right to choose was even clearer when my Dad died.  He had a stroke.  He had signed a living will before hand saying that he never wanted to be kept alive by machines if living a normal life was beyond hope.  Once my mom died, his choice became even clearer.  If he was ever put in that position he wanted to go be with her.  The time came when he had a final stroke.  At that point, there was no sign of any brain activity.  He no longer responded to any of the doctor’s tests.  As hard as it was to turn off the machines and let him die, it was easier to do knowing that was his choice and what he really wanted.  If I am ever put in a situation like that, I will want to have the right to say I don’t want to be kept alive.  I will want my family to let me go.  If there is any chance of saving me and living a happy, productive life then I want to be saved…but like him I want to have my say and be allowed to make that final choice so my family doesn’t have to.  I guess in pretty much all things I like the ability to choose.  After all, it’s my prerogative until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.