As I passed the nurses' station an Asian woman stopped me. "You're Nancy's daughter, aren't you?" she queried. I nodded as she stated what I've heard since I was small, "You look so much like her."

Usually neutral to that comment and unable to see the resemblance myself, the young nurse's words struck me differently today. Reflecting on her comment as my husband and I drove quietly back to the airport, I thought about what else besides facial features I'd gotten from my mother. Her stubborn streak? Her temper? Her insecurity in new situations? Yes, she'd passed those along.

Her lack of patience, technical ineptness, and limited spatial relations were also passed to me. But so was her love of nature and observant ways. Her passion for reading and learning. Her wonder and excitement at life.

It's hard to watch my mother drain away as a recent stroke renders her body a stranger; hard to sit at her bedside when the words she speaks are an alphabet soup of mixed up messages; and hard to see her playful spirit kidnapped by this final dance of life.

Yet my heart fills with joy when I think of all she's given me and my brother, and her grandchildren and great granddaughter, and scores of elementary school children she nurtured, and the many lives she touched. It's not the genetic composition, but the living fabric that I treasure being her daughter.

Growing up, I knew that while I might look like my mother, my personality was nothing like hers. I didn't get her outgoing nature or her cheerful morning approach. I didn't get her inability to sit still. I'm more like my father: quiet; reflective; creative and slow to wake. Still, I look like my mother in ways you can't see in a picture.

I got from her my spiritual side, a belief in the goodness of people and a compassionate heart. I got from her a spirit of giving and a touch of spunkiness. I got from her the power of unconditional love that I passed to my son, who is passing it on to his daughter. And I got from her a joy for living.

In the scheme of things, I would not be me without my mother's influence. Yet my life is a composite of what I've gotten from my mother and my father; from my brother and husband and son; from family and friends and bosses and teachers and strangers.

When I think of each of you, sometimes I can identify what I got from you and sometimes I can't; sometimes it's positive and sometimes it's not. But I do know this - who I was, who I am, and who I am becoming is a mosaic of it all. And Mom - your large piece is in my soul.

(c) 2008 Nan S. Russell.  All Rights Reserved.

Nan S. Russell is the author of "Hitting Your Stride: Your Work, Your Way." More about Nan and her work can be found at www.nanrussell.com.