As a small, shy girl, I loved to watch my mother getting ready for work.
I peered up at her in the looking glass. The light shone on her hair like a halo. Her perfume smelled like jasmine in the summer. I always sat on her small, soft vanity chair with my feet tucked under me. When my mother was finished getting ready, she picked me up and smiled. “One day, you will look like me,” she said. “We are exactly alike.” She held me close and kissed my cheek as we looked into the mirror together.
As the years went by, I grew up. I still loved to sit and watch her get ready for work. My mother’s hair was turning a little gray. Occasionally, she dabbed a bit of lipstick on my upturned face. We smiled as we looked in the mirror. “One day, you will look like me,” she said. “We are exactly alike.” I tried hard to see something of my mother’s face mirrored in my own, but did not.
Soon, I became a young teenager. Sometimes I still sat and watched her. My mother was much older now, and her hair did not shine as it once had. The years had gone by and they left their mark on her face, as well. She was still a beautiful woman. I had my own ideas about how I wanted to look. I did not want to look like my mother!
I did not want to see her face in the mirror. “How can we possibly be the same?” I wondered. “We look nothing alike.” My mother smiled and said, “We are exactly alike.”
We both grew older. I was a young woman ready to find my place in the world. I moved out. My mother was a little sad, but she knew I loved her. She continued to live alone, while she waited for my visits.
When I did go home for a visit, I spent time caring and cooking for my mother, who was by now quite elderly and frail. She was not well. I took care of her home, went shopping, and planted beautiful flowers for her to enjoy. Our favorite time of day was in the morning. We would sit, side by side, and watch the birds and butterflies that flew around her garden.
I helped her to sit on the small, soft vanity chair. I brushed her beautiful silver hair until it shone like a halo. I dabbed her perfume that smelled like jasmine in the summer behind her ears. I looked into the mirror and smiled at my mother’s reflection.
My mother died that spring. When I went home for the last time, I stood by the looking glass. I stared as long as possible, but I still didn’t see my mother. A quiet calm came over me as I waited and watched. I smiled. My mother’s eyes, with all their love and wisdom, smiled back at me. It was at that moment I knew what she had meant. I didn’t look like my mother on the outside. She was inside me, close to my heart. That’s where she will always be.
Journeywoman
