Happy Birthday, Mom

Today is my mother’s 87th birthday. I have been thinking of her a lot lately, and I wish I could be with her today. At Easter Sunday dinner, we sat with friends at my parents’ beautiful dining room table, which I kept when their house was sold last year. I used my mother’s gold tablecloth, my grandmother’s china, silver, and glasses. Both women really knew how to set a table and taught me well. I also learned good manners and especially not to put the pickle jar on the table.

My mother taught me to eat healthy although an egg a day and liver once a week may not meet today’s cholesterol-free recommendations. We had special meals with all my dad’s relatives on holidays, and we had a lot of fun despite the work of cooking, setting up, and cleaning afterwards. On Mom’s 80th birthday, I even wrote a poem about it called All That Cookin'. She taught me to plan my meals and shop efficiently and frugally. I can make a bed with tight hospital corners thanks to her. I know how to keep my house neat and clean. She not only worked hard at home but also had several careers: hospital dietician, teacher of dietary aides, and librarian.

So, by my mother’s advice and example, I learned to be kind and responsible, to work hard but efficiently, to use proper etiquette, and much more. I am certain that I get my positive outlook from her as well as my ability to stay in touch with friends. She kept journals throughout her life, which I now have but cannot yet read. Blogging is another way of keeping a journal I suppose.

Today my mother is in an Adult Behavioral Medical Unit getting regulated on meds, so she will not be too combative or too drowsy. She is transitioning from assisted living to a nursing home. That my very gracious and proper mother needs to be medicated to behave is an irony that deeply saddens me.