Today is my mother’s birthday. She is 97 years old. We used to have a big celebration each year but have stopped that now. The last party we had was for her 95th birthday. We had it in September. Why? Because August is really ridicously hot in New York and since Mom doesn’t remember when her birthday is anyhow, September (which is usually cooler) is as good a time as any to celebrate it. The celebration is what’s important.
We gave her a big party when she was 90. She was almost all there for that one and really enjoyed the attention. She has always been a ham. She’d picked a poem to read, we had a great cake, a beautiful scrapbook that the whole family contributed to and we all danced the night away. When she turned 95, we had another celebration but by that time she didn’t seem to understand what was going on. If God blesses us and she’s here for 100 years, we will have another celebration. We’ll celebrate on a small scale from now until then.
In celebration of her time on this earth, I want to share what she’s done for me. She was never the most demonstrative mother and I don’t remember a lot of hugs and kisses, but I never doubted that she loved me.
She read the Sunday comics to me—Every Sunday morning, complete with funny voices
She encouraged me to read – Making it really hard to pick the lock on the trunk where she kept her steamy novels like Peyton Place.
She encouraged me to get a good education. I enjoyed working side by side with her in the evenings as she cleaned office buildings as a part-time job. She never missed an opportunity while we were working to tell me how I should never have to do this—“Get your education—do not expect anyone (read "any man") to take care of you.”
She made the holidays, especially Christmas, a great time of wonder by building up the most hysteria I can remember. I’d get so excited, I’d actually run a fever.
She instilled in me a love of God and church by making sure that we spent hours in church every Sunday and that we also spent hours practicing for the Children’s Choir, Easter pageant, Christmas pageant, and any other pageant she could come up with.
She instilled in me a sense of honesty by making sure that if I ever lied to her my punishment would be so swift and intense that I’d never want to do it again.
She made me believe that I could be anything I wanted. I don’t know if she believed it, but she sure made me believe it.
She demonstrated to me how important family was by always being there for us and for her family.
She inadvertently made me the scrapbooker that I am by constantly telling me family stories—stories that I never tired of hearing. Years later, I would begin chronicling my family history in big, heavy scrapbooks to be passed down for generations.
She made it easier for me to understand the importance of having a life of my own apart from my children’s lives as I watched her life diminish as her children developed lives of their own.
She transferred her fierce sense of independence to me and I have had to grow into the understanding that it is ok to need someone sometime.
I see her sense of style manifested in my closet—from shoes, to coats, to dresses.
She has passed down to me a sense of organization—true I’ve taken it to a whole other level—but it started with her influence.
She taught me many things about moderation (“You need to know your limits”), decorum (“What will the neighbors think?”) and manners (“You will address adults as Mr. & Mrs”). Some of her teachings played out as I raised my children and still echo in my head today as I move away from that gorgeous Coach bag—I need to know my limits.
None of us are who we are alone – Thanks Mom – Happy Birthday - I love you
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