I said, “But however different they may be, they are our parents. Even as adults, they are our parents. For good or bad.” I was in a pontificating and contemplative mood.
“Sometimes when I visit Chappaqua,” I said, “I see or hear something, maybe even smell something, and suddenly I think of her. It doesn’t happen as often as it did at first. Then it was terrible. Everything reminded me of her. Now it’s almost random. When I was last there, it was the field where she always watched my horrible soccer games. A bunch of kids were playing in the same-colored uniforms we wore, and I could almost see her in the stands. It made me sad. I thought of some of the mothers sitting in those stands and wondered whether any of them would be taken too young and how her daughter would ever recover from it.” I took a slow but long drink from my glass.