Terry Bradshaw didn't cry when his mother died, but wept uncontrollably when his dog passed. He spent years trying to earn her approval through financial support and building her a house, fueled by resentment over her verbal abuse. He's wrestling with guilt, anger, and the fact that his love for her never changed.
Chapters
My mother, when she died, I didn't shed a tear. Now, you don't think that, Indra? That still bothers me. Why? When my dog died, James died, and I picked his casket up at the vet when I came off the plane and took it, put it in the back seat, and I got in the car. Tammy's sitting there, and I just started bawling uncontrollably. Hmm. Over a dog. All right. My mind will not let that event Leave. Nobody did more for their mother. Nobody put up more from their mother. Nobody tried to make her life better than I did. And nobody in our family was abused as much verbally as I was. Wow. And, and I think when my mother died, it was like, well, now I don't have to worry about, why haven't you called? And I just don't need that. Well, I travel. Well, I hadn't seen you in— well, I'm gone all the time. Well, you just need to stay home. You don't need to be traveling that much. Well, I wanted to say, well, I got to travel that much because I got to make this money to pay for that house I just built you or buy that Mercedes-Benz. I got to pay for all this stuff. I didn't say that. Right. But you say it now. You had the resentment in you, though. It pissed me off. Yeah. Why don't you just appreciate, appreciate what I'm, what I'm doing? I love you to death. That hasn't changed.
