A Mother and Daughter Memoir

I grew up in 1960s suburban Los Angeles.  My mother didn’t like me to smile at strangers, play outside after dusk, and most importantly, be far away from her.

By: Leslie Gilbert-Lurie

“Mommy, I was afraid that you died.”

“I didn’t die. Sleeping. I was sleeping.” Holding my cell phone, I propped myself up on the pillow and regained my bearings. I was in an elegant hotel room in Washington, D.C. Judging from the burning sensation in my eyes, I had not been asleep for long.

“I was so worried when you didn’t answer the phone.” My daughter’s small voice …

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