Ah, the picture above—was it taken mid-eye-roll at my junior high school graduation?

I never met a book by Ruth Reichl I haven’t loved, and my adoration continued with  Not Becoming My Mother (retitled for the paperback as For You Mom, Finally), a deceptively simple snack. (I’m certain that Ms. Reichl, editor of Gourmet Magazine, would find a more elegant food analogy, but I, alas, am but a quick and dirty cook, though one who loves reading the work of educated ones—like Ruth Reichl)

In her previous books, the author consistently folded her cooking and restaurant reviewing skills into a personal memoir—making a mixture with the consistency of magic. Her work has always been fascinating, down-to-earth, and erudite—and always offered the reader fascinating glimpses into the world of food and Ms. Reichl’s own intriguing life, which often included portraits of her sad, unusual, and, to the author, exasperating, mother.

This 110-page gem boils it all down to the author’s mother’s true story. It is not an apology for what she’s previously written—or perhaps it is.

Any daughter who lived her life under the thumb of her mother’s quirks and enraging mothering mistakes will fly through this book, reading Reichl’s brave attempts to find out the truth of her mother’s life. She writes of living her life on “Mim tales”—a trait with which my sister and I can over-identify, having dined, perhaps too long, on a pathetic treasure trove of Mom stories.

But as I read the author’s unearthing of her mother’s truth (her now-realization of her mother’s eccentricities as representing being crammed into the tiniest of housewifery boxes and the narrowest of work roles) I found it hard to catch my breath, amazed at the author’s courage in uncovering her own perhaps lack of generosity towards her mother, and deeply admiring her ability to now find the heroic in her mother.

Because I was with her every step.

Like Ruth Reichl, I, too, berate myself for not managing to rise above the role of daughter to my mother and become a woman and friend to her. However, perhaps when one grows up with a larger-than-life mother, that’s an impossible goal. Maybe only after death severs a relationship that holds us emotionally hostage can we step back and find perspective.

So, thank you, Mom, for being a role model of friendship, you who offered such a striking portrait of being a loyal companion to so many wonderful women.

Thank you, Mom, for showing such a flair for beauty.

Thank you for showing us the wonder and fun of work.

For laughing very hard. For always appreciating a good story. For your advice on men.  And women.

Yes, you were often right about many things. I can now consider you a hero because you lived your life trying very hard. And I know that now.

I miss you. Happy Mother’s Day.