Growing up, I used to idolize the “Leave it to Beaver” shows on the old black and white TV we had - with the picture-perfect family that I would close my eyes and imagine myself having. My mom was very ill when I was a child, and was constantly in the hospital undergoing surgery after surgery. My interaction with my mom was limited to those fleeting moments when she felt well enough to let me sit with her, before having to go back into the hospital. She did not live to see 34, and the child in me grieved for a long time the fact that I never really had much time with her. I would enjoy going over to my friends’ houses and watching their moms scold them, make a fresh batch of cookies, bandage a bloody knee, or tell us to get outside and play. I think that I was angry for a long time, since I felt “cheated” out these ordinary experiences with my own mom.