As I gaze into the mirror, I am struck by the familiar contours of my mother’s visage reflected back at me: the pronounced jawline, deep-set eyes, high forehead, and gently sloping nose. It’s been 14 years since her passing, and this resemblance is both unsettling and comforting, akin to a visitation from her spirit. In my youth, I never believed I bore much resemblance to her, but now, at 41, the gradual fading of youth reveals my mother’s features more clearly.
My new glasses—thick, brown tortoiseshell frames—further enhance this illusion. My mother was never without her glasses. During a brief period in her 40s, she experimented with contact lenses, but it was widely agreed that glasses suited her best. Without them, her eyes appeared slightly too large, and her nose a bit elongated. A severe nearsightedness meant her glasses were practically an extension of her person; she wore them from the moment she awoke until she retired for the night, even swimming with them. I can vividly recall her bespectacled visage cutting through the water with her dainty breaststroke, her curly red hair elegantly pinned atop her head.
Her collection of stylish frames was impressive; my father often lamented the expense. “They’re the one thing you wear all the time,” she would insist, “and right in the middle of your face!” Frequent trips to Europe for her work in the fashion industry often resulted in her returning home with unique frames that no one else stateside possessed, much to her delight. The styles varied dramatically, from chunky to delicate, square to round, and retro to contemporary. As a child, it took me days to adjust to her new glasses. After her unexpected death at 56 from cancer, a young resident returned her glasses to my brother and me in a plastic bag. They were a brown oval pair, so new that I had barely adjusted to them; seeing them brought an overwhelming wave of grief in the hospital lobby.
I came into this world when my mother was 30 and have the clearest memories of her during her 40s, the age I currently inhabit. I viewed her as nothing short of magical, but perhaps she had a different perspective when gazing into her sleek compact mirror. With gray roots beginning to show and fine lines marking her face, did she perceive a lesser version of herself? Did she ponder where the years had gone? I recall her once telling me, “When people say you look tired, Daisy, what they really mean is you look old,” as she powdered her nose.
I would watch her prepare for work each morning, captivated by her routine: moisturizing, concealing, plucking. I absorbed every detail of her—her long fingers, sharp collarbone, and straight teeth. “I know what you’re thinking,” she once remarked, catching me in my awe. “I used to look at my mother the same way, always thinking how old and ugly she was, and I couldn’t imagine becoming that.” I wanted to protest, but the words never left my lips.
As I navigate life without her, memories I believed were lost resurface. I recall how she curled her eyelashes to avoid touching her lenses and smoothed her forehead to erase the lines between her brows. I find myself mimicking these actions as my own features begin to align with hers. My new glasses serve a practical purpose on hectic days, concealing the dark circles beneath my eyes, just as I imagine hers did. I now understand why people preferred her in glasses, a realization that eluded me in my youth.
When my children were born—children she never had the opportunity to meet—I examined their features for signs of her. Did Ethan inherit her nose? What about Mia, her namesake, who, at 8, proudly wears her own stylish purple frames? Her essence is present in all of them. Yet, when I look in the mirror, I recognize that her spirit lives on most vividly in me—not solely in appearance, but in the steady manner in which she approached life and the nurturing guidance she provided, encouraging our independence and, yes, our sense of style. With my glasses on, I perceive the world she missed.
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Summary
In reflecting on her mother’s legacy, the author discovers a profound resemblance in both appearance and spirit. As time progresses and life evolves, the author learns to appreciate the subtle ways her mother’s influence continues to shape her identity, especially as she navigates motherhood herself.
Keyphrase: reflection on family resemblance
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