I dreamt that I was walking through an enormous maze of department stores, offices, and huge restaurants. They were all connected. I walked through large halls with tall pillars and down many wide staircases. In retrospect, it all looked like America in the Seventies, when I arrived there. I was looking for a temporary nursing home for my father, who was quite frail already. And then I bumped into my mother, who just came up a broad and bright staircase. Her hair cut rather short, her lips bright red with lipstick, she looked wonderful. I saw her like she must have been when I was five or six, when she was in her early forties. “Mom,” I exclaimed in admiration, “how beautiful you are!” I was truly delighted. She just squeezed my arm and smiled demurely before she hurried off. I do not remember what she said she was looking for, but it was for my father. Although I was taller than she was, she behaved exactly as she would when I was a kid. The encounter was so stunning that I started waking up. It took me a while, though. Between the two worlds, neither here nor there, I experienced something of a revelation: “That is why children delight in the youth and good looks of their mothers or fathers!” Deep down, they know what will come next. And this is where the fear of ageing of their parents comes from. As well as the fear of losing them entirely, of course. It all made sense to me, until I really woke up.