Happy birthday, Mom!

Happy birthday, Mom! Eighty-two years ago today, the little town of Centerville, Arkansas welcomed you and your twin brother into the world. (That's you on the left, you little cutie!) You've lived through world wars, depressions and boom times, heat, snow and tornadoes. You were high school valedictorian, filling your mind with beautiful poetry and prose and grammar. And you carry all that knowledge with you today even as you forget that you fed the dogs five minutes ago.

Life has thrown you more than your share of curveballs, but you just keep on making base hits. Yeah, I'm using a baseball analogy for you, even though you regularly declare it the most boring game in the world. Truth is, you never were much for sports, or any other entertainment, for that matter. Your life revolves around family and home and hard work. Feed everyone else before you take a bite. Do laundry after your children are in bed. Never spend a penny on yourself that could be spent on someone else instead.

You learned hard work from your mother, who was widowed at 42. She gave piano lessons, took in other people's washing, picked cotton in the Arkansas heat. While your little sister played on a blanket in the shade of a big tree, you worked alongside your mother. You still talk about how heavy that long towsack was as you dragged it down the rows of cotton, how sharp the cotton bolls were on your young fingers. Your grandparents helped all they could back then, but it was your mother who worked and worked. And when she took a job in the next county, you went with her. She took in boarders, walked clear across town every day to her job in the hospital, and still somehow got you kids through school.


Your brothers went to war, came home, and became a doctor and a lawyer. Your sister's husband became a real live rocket scientist. (Here you are all together - cute shoes!) And yours, a junior high teacher. No money there, but there was love, and I think you had some good years - until his heart attacks began. The first one hit when he was only 42 and you were 33, and I don't know how you dealt with the insecurity that created. But you worked and worried and raised your kids, and sometimes late at night we'd rush Daddy to the hospital. You lost him when you were only 53 - my age now - and I remember that even during the week of his funeral you were more concerned about everyone else's comfort than your own.

Your mother never remarried, and neither did you. Not even a date, ever. You took care of Grandma til she died. Lost your beloved twin in a car wreck, an event which nearly killed you with grief. You worked until you were 70. Your older brother, now 90, has been your rock. You helped your son buy the house where you both live. And now Ed and I are here to do what we can for both of you.

A couple of years ago when I began my journey back home to you, my goal was to be here in time to throw you a big 80th birthday party. I wanted to invite the whole family, have a big dinner somewhere, sing something for you with my brother and sister. That didn't happen. But tonight you and I are going out. We'll have an early dinner, then we've got tickets to the special 50th anniversary showing of "West Side Story" at the local multiplex. As usual, you're balking at going out - "Let's just stay home." "We have to fix The Men some supper." But I think we'll make it, and I'll do my best to see that you have fun, because that's why I'm here.

I love you, Mom. You're my inspiration, the strongest woman I know. Happy birthday to you, and maaanny mooooore!!