“She looked up at me, her eyes large with compassion, with understanding of the solitude and incivility of grief.”
“I looked up. Mom looked down at me with the compassion/practicality combo that was her trademark.”
“And that other self, who watches me from the distance of decades,what will she say? Will she look at me with hatred or with compassion,I whose choices made her what she will be?”
“She gazed up at me wide-eyed from the shed floor and bit her lip seductively. Unfortunately it was her top lip so she looked like a piranha.”
“Then her eyes are fluttering open and she's looking into me. Not at me, but into me.”
“She looked up and ran her eyes over me,slowly, while I stood and wondered why. Had she forgotten what I looked like? But she finished with a big smile. She really did like me, the idiot.”