For Daughters

Living with my mother as she descended into Alzheimer's, I got to know her as a little girl. My tyranical, commanding mother developed a jig in her walk and an easy laugh on her lips. We danced in supermarkets and elevators. We spent an occasional quiet afternoon with crayons and watercolors. Was I going out without combing my hair? She never noticed.

I treasure the gift of those years. I also weep over never having met woman to woman. By the time I was ready, she was already receding.

But I wonder: would I have ever been ready if she had not receded? At the time, I met for lunch with a friend my age whom I had not seen in years. We talked about my mother and her illness and the sadness of it all. But when I said,

'You know, it's also kind of liberating that she no longer has any idea what I do,'

my friend gasped and put her hand up to her mouth, as if we were teens, about to get caught smoking. She understood.

Did my mother in fading let in the sunlight I needed to grow as tall as she? Is there another way for this to happen?

Are there any women out there who have had a face-to-face encounter with their mothers that has resulted in the same kind of liberation? I’d like to think there are. If you’re among them, tell me. If not, tell me how you find your sunlight.