At length, when I considered it, I realized that the best of my actions were small things. Picking flowers and cooking food for my mother when she had been unwell, spending an afternoon with the children, sending money to my sister or kissing Henry's tiny head as he slept in the nursery before I left. I thought of every detail and afterwards I felt better. Hellfire and brimstone have never appealed to me and I admit I become easily confused thinking of right and wrong. But I do understand kindness.
I'm not sure how much easier it is for a mother to balance her life now - have we simply swapped one set of restrictions for another?
Writing about the 1950s has given me tremendous respect for my mother's generation.
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