By the time I gave birth to a child, my mother-in-law had already raised four sons and had a lot to teach me. “Here,” Phyllis said, laying my screaming daughter along her forearm, face-down.
The crying stopped.
It was not only what Phyllis knew, it was her attitude: calm, capable, confident. Of course I would trust my infant to her—and my toddler, my teenager, and my adult child. And every step of the way, Phyllis was one step ahead of me.
She showed me how to be a working mother and a working wife. How to worry less about keeping a perfect house and cooking gourmet meals. She introduced me to her favorite breakfast—an apple with peanut butter—and I have never improved upon it.
Mostly, she taught me how to put first things first, like a second cup of coffee. And the coffee always came with good conversation, good listening. Sometimes I wondered how I could ever help her?
Then, in her eighties, Phyllis developed macular degeneration and had trouble reading. So I started sending my weekly letters in sixteen-point type. She didn’t write back anymore, but that was okay. Our connection was already well-established.
