The discovery hit me like a slap – my thrifty, practical mother had spent nearly two thousand dollars on a designer dress. Meanwhile, my son was taking out loans for college. The unfairness burned in my chest as I imagined how far that money could have gone toward his education.
When I asked her about it, I expected defensiveness or guilt. Instead, she met my eyes with quiet dignity. “Do you know how many times I’ve said no to myself over the years?” she asked. She reminded me of all the little luxuries she’d denied herself so we could have what we needed – the salon visits skipped, the vacations never taken, the clothes worn until they frayed.
Her words forced me to confront an uncomfortable truth: I’d begun to see my mother not as a person with her own desires, but as a resource to be tapped. That dress wasn’t just fabric and thread – it was her declaration that after seven decades of giving, she was finally allowing herself to receive. And who was I to deny her that?
