L. Campbell.

And even more implausible, how did I end up where I am, with four-bedroom apartment in "white-glove" doorman building in Manhattan, a country house, and two kids in private school?
But for us, it was different. My parents divorced, and my mother and I did move. Far. It's as if someone shot a gun in the air, said "Go!" and we ran in opposite directions as fast as we could for two decades.
With an awkward, unremitting silence between us, we attempted to come together, or maybe, at least for a while, stop running.
Me feeling that her remote lifestyle was just a physical manifestation of the remoteness that had always been between us, and she, no doubt, thinking I was unwilling to respect her decision to choose this life.
Still, it seems my mother and I have spent most of our lives in a poker game of rejection, with one of us upping the ante on each round.
I recognize that we either come together now or we most likely never will.
I'll always wish more of that mothering had been directed my way.