Mom turns 94 on August 6th.
She is the last surviving child from a family of 13.
She has not seen her mother and father for a very long time.
She has outlived her husband.
In her 94 years, mom lived through the Great Depression and Prohibition.
She traveled to Cuba and became best friends with one of her sisters.
She met and married my father.
She worked as a bookkeeper and a domestic engineer.
In her 94 years, Mom raised two snot-nosed kids, who turned out okay.
She learned how to cook a mean potato pancake and wiener schnitzel.
She railed against “too much frosting” while searching out coffee cake at the grocery store.
She has been true to her Christian faith and true to her church.
In her 94 years, Mom has seen 15 U.S. Presidents come and go.
She is on President #16.
She has lived through a World War, a Korean War, the Viet Nam War, and the Bay of Pigs.
She remembers Bob Hope, Charlie Chaplain, and silent movies.
In her 94 years, Mom has suffered through the rock ‘n’ roll music that would lead all young people to hell.
She has lived in three Wisconsin cities.
She has lived in at least half a dozen homes, an apartment and assisted living.
She has a love of fresh-cut snapdragons from the garden and hot pink geraniums on the patio.
In her 94 years, Mom’s glass has been half empty, but the love of her family is always full.
She protected her children.
She made dinner for her husband.
She danced at my cousins’ weddings.
In her 94 years, Mom has been a fan of the Milwaukee Braves and the Green Bay Packers.
She was not a fan of cats or dogs, until she met Sadie the lab from across the street.
She fed Sadie food out of the refrigerator.
She never did warm up to my cats, always wondering why I didn’t have children instead.
In her 94 years, Mom has had a knee replaced, but didn’t let it stop her from walking.
She didn’t go to the gym, she walked.
She rode a bicycle.
She never learned to drive a car.
In her 94th year, Mom walks with a walker.
She misses her husband.
She wonders why she’s still alive.
She drinks her brandy manhattan.
In her 94th year, my brother and I celebrate her life.
My brother comes home for a visit.
We bring her flowers.
We sing Happy Birthday.
Here’s not to another 94, but here’s to another day, another week, another moment that you bless us with your presence.
Happy Birthday, Mom!
Love, hugs and kisses from your snot-nosed kids.