Few of my Friends Still Have Parents

It's part of the cycle of life. Parents age. Parents die. Some children have children of their own. Grandchildren may or may not have memories of a grandparent.
My father died when his two grandsons were 3½ and 1¼. My mother lived to see great grandchildren.
Both of my parents are gone. My only sister-in-law (who turned 70 last May) has not parents.
I was a freshman in college when my maternal grandmother passed away. She was living in a nursing home. She had little memory of me. She had little memory of herself. She tried to escape the nursing home many times because she said she needed to go home and prepare food for the family. (Her husband had died 12 years before her).
Dementia sucks.
These days I buy roasted chicken on Thursday or Friday after work. As a single person, it lasts for numerous meals for me. When I carve it, I make sure to find the wishbone and to secure that it remains intact. I clean it with care and remove the flesh from it as best I can. I then place it on the kitchen windowsill to dry. When I have a(n) half dozen of them, I wrap them in paper towels and place them in an empty soup can. I ship them in a care package to a witch I know in Puerto Rico. I knew she was a witch when I had met her and when I went to her apartment and saw the wish bones that she'd kept in a glass jar, my assumption was affirmed. She also would surround herself with porcelain angels.
We all have a varying amount of magic within us. Some express it with love. Others resort to cooking. Even cleaning up a place exhibits some form of magic. I haven't found my perfect medium. I recycle. I pray. I note things for which I am grateful. I meditate and am reminded that there isn't always enough G*d in my life. (I remind myself that my G*d is a single Entity).
When you believe in monotheism, there are no statues of other players in the history of your Tribe. The closest that you might come to that might be a story book that may have drawings of Ruth, Esther, Jacob, Moses. We don't make any representations of G*d.
Parents who have been in our lives can play a very important role. Mine were a lifeline during the formative years. They provided my food, a place to live, the basic tools I needed to be prepared for school, and the clothes on my back. I always had a bed. There was soap and running water and two or three televisions in the apartment. We also had a radio in the kitchen and one in the living room. My parents had a clock radio in their bedroom.
I wept when my mother died. For my father... not so. He was not nice to me during life. I felt no obligation to pretend that I felt any other way. But when my mother left, I said the mourner's prayer every day. I made sure I knew where east was, and I arose and faced the direction. Sometimes the prayer was said and other times it was spoken. And if I had missed it before getting ready for my trip to work, I'd say it in the car.
Most of my friends no longer have parents. It's not a subject for conversation. I miss not talking about my mother's health or reminding myself how much she would show her love for me. She was a decent person.
"Take care of those you call your own and keep good company!"