Motherhood

She sat upright, in her specially commissioned armchair, slippered feet resting lightly on the floor. She looked again at the photograph in her hand. Motherhood had not turned out to be what she had expected.

The young woman in the picture, feisty, fashionable and fearlessly independent, was not her daughter, but her granddaughter.  Three generations of women, and God willing a great-granddaughter some day.

She sat alone, surrounded by cards and flowers. Passing on the baton, blessing them both to leave had been hard, when what she longed for most of all was to sit and hold their hands.

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