"These women had such wonderful daughters..."

At our dinner last night, to make conversation with her table-mates, she remarked how the daughters of these two women both just came in and unpacked them and did all this work for them to get their apartments set up. She was speaking in high praise for the daughters of these virtual strangers.

I could only stare at her. What have I been doing every day for the last two weeks? And before that, coming down to in the old place, sorting through piles of things, moving things to give-away to this charity, another pile to another charity. Trashing broken or un-useful items. Sorting through "move to the new apartment" vs "put in storage". Taking a week of my precious vacation time. The physical strain of moving, the mental strain of juggling her life's needs on top of my own. I was somewhere between crushed, or flabbergasted, or annoyed, or just resigned.

Unlike the first 86 of her years, she has suddenly become grateful, usually. I'm enormously happy about that - there are many older folks that make everyone's life miserable. Of course, it's in her self-interest to express gratitude to ensure continued support. And she has ... mostly. I'm sure it must be difficult to sustain a high level of gratitude when it goes against one's whole life pattern of snarkiness, and, when it reminds one of dependence on others.

Still, would it have killed her to let me look at least as loyal and good and helpful as these women's daughters?

I'm not doing it for the praise. I'm not. But it feels good to be acknowledged, I'll admit it.