Today my mother would be 72. That's hard to believe. Even harder to believe that the last birthday she celebrated on Earth was her 62nd. Three months after her birthday she was diagnosed with an acoustic neuroma, a benign brain tumor, and less than five months after that she was gone.
I always struggle on the anniversary of her death, May 4. She fought a long and brave battle with the tumor, until ultimately her healing came on the other side of Heaven. But on her birthday, bittersweet as it is, I like to celebrate her life more. I always try to eat something pumpkin, one of her favorite flavors, and I always try to wear something of hers, if only for a few hours. One piece of her jewelry has been on me every day since she died, but I typically put on one of her sweatshirts, which I am currently wearing, as a nod to her and her special day.
What makes me sad is so many people I love who never got to meet her. My fantastic husband, for starters. They would have gotten along so well. And my beautiful sweet little boy, Reagan. Not a day goes by that I don't wish she had a chance to meet him. She would have been head over heels in love with him, without a doubt.
I have so many friends that never got to know her. Their knowledge of her is only what I've shared, but anyone who knew her knows that words are inadequate in describing who she really was.
She loved. She loved people of all kinds. She definitely didn't discriminate. I have said often that she could have had the President, the Pope, a hardened criminal and an addict over for dinner, and they all would have left thinking they were her favorite. The more someone needed love, the more she loved.
She cooked. Goodness, she could whip up a fantastic meal. And chances are, if she knew what your favorite food was, it would be on the table when you came over. Her Sunday dinners were overflowing with piles and piles of food that she insisted was "nothing." She also made pancakes every Saturday morning, for as long as I can remember, and no one has ever been able to replicate quite how good they were. And I could go on and on about her desserts -- cakes, pies, cookies -- and if she was having company, she always had more than one dessert. No one ever left the table hungry.
She gave. In big ways and little ways, she gave. Whether it was a donation to a missionary, a meal to someone recovering from an illness, or a gift just because, she gave. I can't count how many care packages and gifts I received from her over the years. Little things she would pick up just because it made her think of me. One of my favorite memories of her is also one of my last before she became ill. I was talking to her on the phone while I was opening cranberry juice, and some of it spilled onto my brand-new white shirt I had just bought. Only a few days later, a package arrived in the mail from her, with a new white shirt.That was such a classic Mom thing to do.
She listened. When you were talking to her, she gave you all of her attention. She wanted to know people's stories, she wanted to know who they were on the inside. Big or small problems, she was always available to listen. Even as her illness was progressing, and cognitive thoughts and long attention spans were difficult, she still wanted to talk to people who had for years been coming to her with their problems. Her own comfort was last on her list of priorities.
She hugged. So many people at her viewing said they would miss her hugs. When she met you, she hugged you, and through her hug, you could feel her love pouring out of her. Even if she had just met you for the first time, she'd reach in for a hug.
She was a woman of great faith. It's hard to articulate how deep her faith was. Some of my earliest childhood memories are of getting up early in the morning, and finding her with her Bible open. She prayed, always. We used to joke that she had a special line to Heaven, but in reality, it was true. She believed she would receive what she was praying for, and her prayers were answered. It was not uncommon for her to get up in the middle of the night and pour out her heart to God. She loved her friends, and she loved her family, but she was devoted to God, and made it clear, even before her diagnosis, that she wanted to be in Heaven, and to see Jesus face to face.
Happy birthday, Mom. I imagine the cake and ice cream they serve up there is amazing. I'm sure your parents and in-laws and your brothers Kenny and Rich and nephews Dwayne and Carl and so many others are helping you celebrate.
I will celebrate you down here, too. I will celebrate you by trying to be more like you. I will tell my son stories about you, and let your legacy live on through us, as best as we can.
I miss you. Every single day. I can't wait to see you again.
I love you.
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