Britney Spears and my Mom

I really do not understand what has happened here. A woman is stalked everyday by hundreds of people. Chased. And no police stop it. There are no laws against it? If my sister was being stalked and chased she could call the cops and they would come to her rescue.

We have been watching this woman unravel for a year...perhaps longer. It is so heartbreaking. No more or less than anyone going through a struggle, however i can write this and share this because we all know her.

It is horrifying. She is someone's daughter. How have her parents not kidnapped her and saved her. Mine would.

And we watch. It is on CNN. It is everywhere. What are they interested in? Rent Grey Gardens to watch crazy. Of course everyone is crumbling. Artists are collapsing. We are in a tornado filled with vultures...evil vultures pecking at human beings.

Don't you want to reach into the tv and grab the girl. Punch the photographers. Bottom feeders. Seriously, I ask very seriously, how is any of this legal? To hunt people and surround them. It's gang rape. A stampede. It is so upsetting.

I am sadly glued to the CNN special about Britney Spears right now. Sadly because I am contributing to the madness. However, my heart breaks from this. I am not curious about her demise, I am pained about her moment.

My mom sent this to me today. I think it relates.

WORRY
Is there a magic cutoff period when
offspring become accountable for their own
actions? Is there a wonderful moment when
parents can become detached spectators in
the lives of their children and shrug, "It's
their life," and feel nothing?

When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital

corridor waiting for doctors to put a few
stitches in my daughter's head. I asked, "When do
you stop worrying?" The nurse said,
"when they get out of the accident stage." My
Dad just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little
chair in a classroom and heard how one of my
children talked incessantly, disrupted the class,
and was headed for a career making
license plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher
said, "Don't worry, they all go through
this stage and then you can sit back, relax and
enjoy them." My dad just smiled
faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime
waiting for the phone to ring, the cars to come
home, the front door to open. A friend said,
"They're trying to find themselves. Don't worry,
in a few years, you can stop worrying. They'll be
adults." My dad just smiled faintly
and said nothing.
By the time I was 50, I was sick & tired of being
vulnerable. I was still worrying over my
children, but there was a new wrinkle. There
was nothing I could do about it. My
Dad just smiled faintly and said nothing. I
continued to anguish over their failures, be
tormented by their frustrations and absorbed in
their disappointments.

My friends said that when my kids got married I
could stop worrying and lead my own
life. I wanted to believe that, but I was
haunted by my dad's warm smile and his
occasional, "You look pale. Are you al l right?
call me the minute you get home. Are

you depressed about something?"

Can it be that parents are sentenced to a

lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another
handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of
human frailties and the fears of the
unknown? Is concern a curse or is it a virtue
that elevates us to the highest form of life?

One of my children became quite irritable

recently, saying to me, "Where were you? I've been
calling for 3 days, and no one answered I was worried."

I smiled a warm smile.
The torch has been passed.