my mother in anthropologie

One of the first times, in a long time, we chatted, we "oohed" and "ahhed", we giggled and walked, a mother-daughter cadence, arm and arm. We whispered our hopes and dreams among the wooden floor boards and aristocratic priced clothing. Pretended there will be a day we waltz in again and buy the whole store. My mother in Anthropolgie, reminded me that she too was and is just a girl. With feelings, aspirations, what if's, and dreams. Her face lights up, brown eyes aglow, her Hollywood perfect teeth peeking through as she tells me how much she "would just adore this". My mother in Anthropologie, becomes less of a goddess and more of a woman. I see her, see her in a way I haven't since maybe childhood. I see her for her, her likes, her tastes, her wants, and loves. I see how the years have passed her by and she is thankful but wistful. I see her dancing at balls, lecturing in halls, and finding treasure in a remote desert. I see me in her and her in me and for the first time in a long time, I smile. Grateful, happy, that I'm finally seeing my mother in Anthropologie.

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author's note:

None of this is fiction, I truly did see my mother in Anthropologie that day and was blown away with how much I truly love her. How humanizing it is to realize your parents are just people, just girls with dreams, and hopes, and wants. I read this piece quite often, always struck by the tears it stings my eyes with and the warmth in my chest. Hug your mom and tell her you love her.