Mothers and Daughters
The years between 1997 and 2006 were the most authentic years I’ve ever lived, the years in which I was most present, and most rooted. They were the years between the ages of 35 and 44 for me; 4 and 13 for my daughter. They were the years when she and I were the most important people in each other’s lives. The years before I brought someone new into our world. The years before she did. They were the years when we had no one but each other. We were a family of two. Eventually we would get a cat, who would extend our circle of love. Three girls we were; utterly devoted to each other. Girls for whom paradise was coming together again at the end of a busy day: taking comfort in the warmth and weight of each other’s bodies: the three of us sharing a couch, sharing a bed, making a life. I remember well one Victoria Day weekend. My daughter was maybe 5 or 6. Clocks had sprung forward. The days were longer now. Children played on the street until 9 o’clock. Summer was around the