I can’t say that I ever trusted her the way she would have liked. I was her daughter and she my mother biologically; that was about the extent of it. People said that we must have been close the way I used to drop everything and run if she called. I’m not sure if it was necessarily closeness, or more like what I knew was an obligation I had to my matriarch for bringing me safely into this world. She had not, after all, drank or smoked to the point of rotting my fetal brain before it ever had a chance to develop. She also had not declined to feed or cloth me at any times after she had birthed me. It was this kind of love that made me happy to stay in the house if she needed me while all my friends were out together, only for her to fall asleep minutes into a movie night. And her general concern for my well being that made me content to get her random, last minute, non-refundable plane tickets only to have her change her mind at an even later time knowing that the dollar over minimum wage that I was making per hour was not exactly high rolling and I still had bills to pay. It was my pleasure and the least that I could do now that I was in college.“Caroline!” she’d say persistently anytime she wanted something and I looked as if I might not oblige immediately. She lit her temper and her face would contort. “You never…” and her list would begin of all the times I had slighted her, embarrassed her, and forgotten her. The list undoubtedly was short, but her tone made it crucial. So I’d forget my plans, loan her money, give her something or all around subject myself to experiences I would otherwise avoid. But at least I knew she’d sacrificed to raise me well and therefore I could sacrifice to keep her happy.