I knew what she was going to say. I had sniffled through our conversation.
Now Barclay, have you taken your vitamin C? You really must do that if you want to prevent these colds of yours.”
Truth is, I loved that my mom cared about my stuffy nose. Never mind that other sentences that began with the ominous words, Now, Barclay, were fraught with unsolicited advice on my hair color (which only became blonder the more she noted its blond-ness.)
Now that mom’s gone, there’s no one to mind my sniffles. No one is taking an interest in my vitamin C intake. That was her job and hers alone.
So the other night when I detected a slight nasal twinge in my own daughter’s voice, I expressed immediate concern — “Oh no…you sound sick!!”– as if it warranted a call to 911. “Have you taken Airborne? How did you sleep? Will you work from home tomorrow?”
My daughter could be traveling the world, breaking glass ceilings, but clearly I need her to mind her vitamin C. (Perhaps I will pay her a visit, interrupt an international conference call, and offer soup and vitamin C gummies. That should go well, don’t you think?)
I loved that my mom expressed 911-level concern about my sniffles.
She hated my blond hair but clearly she loved me.
As I do Alex.
The vitamin C gummies bear witness.
We love our children without end!!!
And without conditions!!
GREAT!!!!!!!!!! Lovely to see the two pictures. I don’t think your mother is gone however. She still sends love, or so I believe.