IsitatmykitchentablewhilemydaughterAnnasitsnexttomymother.Onthewallhangsaphotoofmyfather.“WhenisRickgoingtobehere?”Mymotherasksreferringtomyhusband.“Idon’tknowMom”Ianswerpatiently.

　　Isit at my kitchen tablewhilemy daughter Anna sits next to my mother.Onthewallhangs aphotoofmyfather.

　　“When is Rick going to be here?”My mother asks referring to my husband.

　　“I don’t know Mom” I answer patiently. “He’ll be here for dinner.”

　　I sigh and get up from the table. This is at least the tenth time she has asked that question.

　　While my mother and daughter play I busy myself making a salad.

　　“Don't put in any onions” Mom says. “You know how Daddy hates onion.”

　　“Yes Mom” I answer.

　　I scrub(洗擦) off a carrot and chop it into bite-size pieces.

　　“Don't put any onions in the salad” she reminds me. “You know how Daddy hates onion.”

　　This time I can’t answer.

　　My mother had been beautiful. She still is. In fact my mother is still everything she has

　　been just a bit forgetful.

　　I cut off the end of the cucumber and rub it to take away the bitterness.Cut and rub. This

　　is a trick I have learned from my mother along with a trillion other things:cooking sewing

　　dating laughing thinking. I learned how to grow up.

　　And I learned that when my mother was around I never had to be afraid.

　　So why am I afraid now?

　　I study my mother's hands. Her nails are no longer a bright red but painted a light pink.

　　Almostno color at all. And as I stare at them I realize I amfeeling them as they shaped my

　　youth. Hands that packed a thousand lunches and wiped amillion tears off my cheeks.

　　Nowmy hands have grown into those of my mother's. Hands that have cooked uneaten

　　meals held my own daughter's frightened fingers on thefirst day of school and dried tears

　　off her face.

　　I grow lighthearted. I can feel my mother kiss me goodnight check to see if the window is

　　locked then blow another kiss from the doorway. Then I am my mother blowing that same

　　kiss to Anna.

　　Outside every