It occurred to me the other day after a pleasant afternoon with my nearly 80-year-old mother that she has become my friend.

We were sitting in her bedroom, talking about the Gulf of Mexico oil spill –its impact on animals, the reaction of BP executives, the future impact on the environment. We chatted easily, grew passionate about our views, listened to each other. “I’m not going to eat anymore fish,” my mother said at one point. “There’s nothing anyone can say to convince me it’s safe anymore.”  I didn’t try to change her mind, but suggested that most of us now will pay closer attention to where the seafood we want to buy was caught.

Over dinner, we discussed my daughter’s summer plans, my mother’s hairstyle, her daily exercises to help improve her walking after knee replacement surgery a few months ago. Later, I helped her take care of a household matter. We laughed together.

When I was getting ready to leave, my mother told me, “I really enjoyed spending time with you today.” I agreed, realizing that we were connecting to each other as adults, not only as a parent and child.  

When I decided to move back to North Carolina nearly a year ago, a part of the reason was to be able to spend more time with my mother and help her as she is aging. There have been a few tensions but we have successfully worked them out without any lingering problems. We’ve learned to compromise. We hug each other a lot.

My mother still insists that I call her when I travel to let her know I’ve arrived safely. She offers advice about what’s going on in my life, but only if I ask for it. She respects me; I respect her. We don’t take each other for granted. We like to talk to each other. We’re friends.

Related posts:

1. Hugs and kisses for my mother
2. Applauding my mother’s reservoir of determination