I was sharing a silly and very happy childhood memory with my mom the other day. Something my own children did had reminded me of her and my own childhood. Suddenly, my mom put her hands up over her eyes and hung her head down. Was she crying?
“Mom?” I questioned.
She wiped her eyes. “I know I didn’t do everything perfectly. There were a lot of things I probably screwed up,” she said to me. “But when you talk about memories like that, I think maybe I did some of it right.”
The words caught in my throat, and I didn’t say them.
Everything, Mom. You did everything right.