My mother is a fine old clock wound up by the Infinite’s touch once and only once, and the hour hand on the face of her life is slowing. The heart aches as the daughter in me sees feet shuffle, words disappear, lips tremble when she sips tea. And it aches for my incomprehension of the gift that was ours, this once in a lifetime meeting in the sacred space of time and life.
Karleen Koen — writing life 
With my half century mark fast approaching, I count myself lucky in so many ways. Lucky to have seen a strong woman lead by example – the example of having a full time job outside of the home and maintaining a family and marriage. And not just a job, but a career. In Appalachia in the 60’s, that was unheard of! But I’m also lucky to have arrived at a place where I can view my Mother’s choices and the realities of her life without blaming her for the effect they had on me, or my siblings. While I can’t converse with her about many things, it’s enough to arrive at a place where we can enjoy each others differences and soak up the mutual affection and respect that only grows with adulthood. Alzheimers or Age related Dementia, the good moments between Mothers and Daughters are sometimes too fleeting to be adulterated with mere words. It’s another thing that the society of truly grown up women don’t share with their younger sisters.