The woman was barely in her sixties, trim, fit, well-kept; in fact, she still shopped for her clothes in the junior department, not because she was an ill-adjusted old lady, but because clothes from every other department had to be adjusted to fit.  She didn’t look a day over 45. She arrived at the party late, when things were breaking up and people were dispersing – an accurate indicator of her desire to be somewhere else, maybe up in the mountains, solitary. A distant acquaintance had invited her to this neighborhood party – pressed her to come – to someone else’s neighborhood.  Her parent’s neighborhood.  So she curtailed her hiking activities on her day off and slid in – to old home plate -just in time to greet the other guests and wave goodbye.

For a moment, her eighty-two-year-old mother’s face lit with pleasure on seeing her. Then a passing and quickly veiled expression of shock was directed toward her still shapely and tan legs protruding from stylish shorts, followed by composed greeting and introductions. Octogenarian Mama covered well, but her compulsions did not escape the 60-year-old woman. Mama tugged two or three times at the side of her own skirt bringing the fabric ever lower over her knees. It was a familiar gesture to the woman, one her mother employed liberally during the teen years to remind the daughter to cover her legs, to be more modest. 42 years.  42 years later, Mama could beam with pride outwardly, yet her subconscious betrayed her embarrassment through compulsive action.

It would be uncharitable to infer the older woman had not grown over the years. In as much as she was capable, within her limits, she made the effort to acknowledge the changes in culture, the successes of her children, to express her pride in their achievements, though they were certainly not making the exact choices she instilled in them. Like most mothers of grown children, she wanted to be a part of their lives as often as possible.  And like most grown, well-adjusted adults, the children pursued lives of their own in other cities and visited their parents sparingly. Healthily, the children, it seems, have become successful individuals. It is Mama who has failed to individuate. One simple gesture revealed volumes.  She still sees the daughter as an extension of herself. Daughter’s legs are showing and she is mortified. Who can save her from the shame?  Only herself. She must shake off that mortification and individuate. Learn to be happy and at peace by savoring her own independence as a unique individual. Respect and applaud the independence and individuation of others.  She is no longer responsible for her children.  Her reputation does not rest on them. And, in truth, they are not responsible for her happiness.