We caused no small amount of amusement ten years ago at our family reunion when we ordered a cake to celebrate my dad’s 100th birthday.
What’s so funny about that? Dad died at age 92. And that explains why you see only his three offspring and not a single candle to blow out. After all, all of his wishes had already come true. Three remarkable children [insert more laughter] and spending eternity with Jesus. Still, the very fact we were all together on what would have been his 100th birthday called for a celebration.
I bring this up because today would have been my mother’s 100th birthday. Doing the math, you’ve figured out she was ten years younger than my dad. But she died way too early at age 74. I’ve grieved the loss of those “expected” years, though not with regret. We had a close relationship that continues without her physical presence. She still influences my thinking. She left me nothing to overcome, and for that I will always be grateful.
I was her baby—a four-year gap from my sister and a six-year gap from my brother—most assuredly a bit spoiled, though not the damaging kind of spoiled. We were all well loved by our parents.
Looking through pictures (I have many, as you can imagine), I found this one of Mother at age 67, only one year behind my current age. I was surprised to see she was already wearing a wig!
Of course I have my favorite pictures, all of them candid shots, this one especially cherished as I think of my parents toward the end of their days together. I will never stop being thankful.
A year ago, I made a book for my sister to read to her grandchildren. I haven’t shared it here because of all the security issues (mother’s maiden name, etc). But all this thinking about my mother makes me want to share it…so I Xed out all the potential risks and linked Carol’s Winifred book here if you’d like to read about my roots.