It happened in front of one of those unforgiving, full-length mirrors.
I had stepped into mom’s adjoining dressing room so we could show one another the clothes we were trying on. Instinctively, I reached out to smooth the white blouse on my mother’s slightly stooped back.
I was in my thirties, and she was in her seventies. We stood side-by-side, looking at our reflections. I think that’s when it hit her . . . hard.
At home I noticed a tear trailing down her cheek. Alarmed, I asked her what was wrong. Continue reading “Ambushed by aging”