My mom just celebrated (but not really celebrated) her 65th birthday.  I feel like no one really tells you about or prepares you for that devastating moment when you look at your parents and realize how old they are.

Since living on my own, my relationship with her has advanced to this refreshing new stratum where we actually communicate as equals.  I’m totally and completely against that whole ‘my-mom/dad-is-my-best-friend’ level of openness, but something about the way she speaks to me now seems so much less didactic than it did before.  And when I don’t feel like I’m being preached at by her, I gradually let down the fail-safe barriers I erected as a child, and am as chatty and divulgy as ever.

For as long as I can remember I’ve made a conscious effort to be nothing like her — but if I’m being honest, I have to admit that every bit of strength I have comes from her, and her steadfast refusal to allow anyone to deny me the right to be me.

The fact that she isn’t going to live forever is endlessly heartbreaking.