From Chicken Soup for the Soul Daily Inspirations for Women

August 10

Almost five years ago at her eightieth-birthday celebration, my mother, feeling fine and looking wonderful, closed her eyes and died in my living room.

To me she had been larger than life. She was fiery and funny. She was brave and honest, but most of all, she was compassionate.

Time has passed and healed us all. Slowly I recalled things she said to me in the months before she died. One night she said, “You are so kind, Terry, so compassionate, and you bring such light into people’s lives. You have that gift: a talent for liveliness. . . . ” I stopped her there.

“Mom! That’s not me you’re describing; it’s you.” But she would have none of that.

Every day of my life since then, I have worn her large-faced watch. Always, I tell her stories. “You know, you sound a lot like your mother,” people tell me more and more lately.

And I sense that the woman who mothered me is someplace not far off. Inside, or all around. In a sudden familiar twinkle in the eyes of one of my children. Even in my very mirror.

Terry Marotta

As we get older, we grow more
and more like our mothers.

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