Upon waking the next morning after the hysterectomy my mouth is so dry. Everything is blurry making me feel sick. A slight movement rudely acquaints me with the realities of post-surgery. Still, I can hear her so familiar footsteps in the hall. Hurrying as always. I feel like I am straining towards the door. A leap of the heart; yes, oh yes, it's her.

"Hi Mom, glad you're awake. I don't have very long." Her smile, her touch, her fierce hug, her kiss on my cheek; yes, this is my daughter. She needs to know that I will live.

She peers so intently into my eyes, as if she might be able to see the answers to her questions. Reminds me of our first intense look at each other at her birth, seventeen years ago. This new human being with her incredibly black eyes peering so intently into mine, as if she might be able to see the answers to her questions.

My daughter, this so beautiful young girl/woman, always in a hurry, so fiercely independent asks "Mom how is the pain? Can you move at all? I brought your favourite nail polish. I know that you had to take off the polish for surgery and I know how you hate your toes naked."

Gently, so gently, she moves the blankets to undercover one foot, then the other. Her touch is cool and surprising efficient. Smiling, chatting a mile a minute in her usual style, she paints my toenails. Her beloved face, looking up from time to time from her focus on my toes, really is the best medicine.

My roommate, another surgery survivor, looks over and comments that she would love her daughter to even think of doing something like this for her.

My soul expands, my heart trembles and I recognize the moment. This is the true gift of motherhood the pay check. All the years of devotion, loving, rearing, leading, teaching and discipline to this... an adult daughter so connected that she freely and willingly is returning care in the best way she can.

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