Bags of Our Mothers

Having breakfast with my two best girlfriends last week has prompted some reflection. Although we do not all have the same number of children, we all have only one daughter. It occurs to me, that while we carry around our own baggage, as well as the overstuffed remains of our mother's luggage, we also place the shiny new Dooneys and Coaches of our daughters on our stooped backs. It's being the mother-daughter-in-the-middle that allows us a peek into all facets of the 100-karat Hope Diamond that is womanhood.

As for our daughters, we pray fervently for them, we ache for them, we revel in their joy - in ways they cannot - and really need not - understand. We think that we know what is best for them, but perhaps, we don't. We can see a proper fit based only on our own experience of them, but as all women, I believe, they are a tapestry woven together with the thread of many different lives...layers of private thoughts and fantasies and dreams and secrets. We really do not know them at all. This love is unconditional.